Sisters Forever
by Gitana del Sol
Summary: individual drabbles, ranging from 100 to 6,000 words, on the relationship between the Black sisters: Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa. together they do show their changing relationship. rated T for mild language and references
1. May 1964: Falling Behind

**To make things easier, i will give an AN here. Everyone knows that the majority of the characters that will be popping up in this fic were created and therefore belong to JKR. She is a wonderful writer and has an amazing imagination; i in no way compare.**

**reviews are always appreciated! i love reviews because i grow from them. for organization's sake, i am going to hold off with thank you's until after this fic is complete. also, at the end of this project i will include a complete list of music, novels, artwork, fanfiction, etc that has inspired me in any way while writing this.**

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_**Part I**_

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A young girl ran out to the yard, laughing happily, ebony curls bouncing wildly. Her eyes were squinted, a result from both the strong sunlight and laughter. Behind her ran two other girls; the first was only two strides behind her, while the other lagged significantly behind. It was obvious that the first two were sisters: the same bouncy curls, the same dark eyes, the same face and smile. It was only on closer observation that one could point out the difference. The curls were a dark brown on the second child, while the first had deep black. The black lashes of the first gave the appearance of dark, mysterious eyes, while the latter had a set of warm brown eyes.

The first girl suddenly twisted around to wait for her sister.

"Come on, Droma!" She called breathlessly, slowing. The brunette child, Droma, pumped her legs faster, laughing, and slipped her hand into the extended one. Together, the two girls ran, hand in hand.

"Bella! Droma! Wait for me!" came the gasps of the third girl. She was much younger than the other two girls, and therefore much slower. Unlike her older sisters, she did not look all too pleased with this game of chase, and was turning very red in the face in her efforts to keep up. The little girl was completely opposite of the older girls; her long straight hair streamed behind her, so blonde that it sparkled gold in the sunlight. Her eyes were a striking blue instead of the brown and black of her sisters.

"Go away, Cissy!" Droma yelled over her shoulder. The black-haired girl, Bella, laughed.

"You're too little, Cissy!" She added.

"Am not!" protested Cissy, pouting.

The three girls ran until the eldest two reached a tree halfway through the yard. Up in the treetops sat an elaborate tree house. Droma paused at the base of the tree, allowing Bella to scramble up first. Then she grabbed the lowest handing limb and pulled herself up after her darker sister.

By the time fair little Cissy reached the tree, both Droma and Bella were sitting on the porch of the tree house, panting breathlessly but happily. Cissy craned her neck to see her older sisters looking down at her. Then she looked at the lowest limb of the tree, uncertain. She teetered towards it, so that she stood right underneath it. But even on tip-toe, it hung just out of her grip. Cautiously, she gave a little hop, arms outstretched to climb the tree the same way the other two girls had. But when the bark scratched her fair palm, she gasped and backed away from the tree, so that she could once again see her sisters. Cissy looked dejected and near tears.

"Narcissa," Bella called down to her between breaths. "You are too little. Go back to the house."

"I don't want to!" She whined. "And I am not too little – I'm _five_! I'm a big girl now!" Bella and Droma exchanged looks, laughing.

"Cissy, go back to the house. Get one of the nannies to play with you." Droma advised.

"But I don't want to play with the nannies, I want to play with you. You _never_ play with me!" The longer Narcissa stood there at the base of the tree, the closer she seemed about to cry. Bella sighed.

"Well, that's because _we_ don't want to play with you." Droma reasoned. "You are too little. Now, get yourself back to the house where you belong."

"Why does Bella play with _you_?" Narcissa demanded of Droma.

"Because Andromeda's nine, Narcissa, and she can actually do things. Now go away!" Bellatrix, tired of her playtime growing shorter, answered her youngest sister impatiently. Then she turned her attention to Droma.

"I can't believe I only have a year left!" She squealed, ignoring the little blonde girl bellow.

"I know! It's so exciting! You better send me lots of owls, and tell me what all the teachers are like. You are so lucky to be born first."

"I bet Hogwarts is beautiful. Wish we were twins, then we could go together!" Bellatrix exclaimed to Droma, who squealed in delighted agreement.

Down below, forgotten, Narcissa whirled around and began the long run back to the house. She stumbled blindly to the house, the tears rushing down her flushed cheeks and blurring her vision. She hated them. She hated being the little sister.

Mostly, she wished that she was older, so that she could reach that first limb and finally be able to play with Bellatrix and Andromeda.

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****edited****


	2. December 1965: Beautiful Magic

It was Christmas Eve. The Black family was hosting their annual Winter Ball. The adults were all downstairs in the grand ballroom, dancing and chatting, eating and exchanging gossip. The children were all lounging in the big playroom, watched by two maids. Both had their wands at hand, eyeing Miss Bellatrix Black closely from where they stood by the doorway.

Narcissa sat in the corner, watching Bellatrix enviously. Bellatrix was standing by the large window, proudly showing off tricks with her wand. She drew it in a large arch above her head, and glittering gold stars danced in the air above her. Andromeda laughed happily and clapped her hands, large eyes watching the wand greedily. Then Bellatrix grabbed the cup beside her and transformed it into a beautiful red cardinal. Andromeda gasped in surprise and watched as the little red bird flapped its wings and darted across the rooms, chirping.

The girls' cousins, Sirius and Regulus, paused in their fighting to check out the curious chirping sound. But when they discovered that it was just a bird, they continued to squabble over who would get to place the last block on their tower.

Narcissa ran her little fingers through her doll's long hair, feeling lonely. Bellatrix and Andromeda didn't want to play with her. They said she was too little. But she didn't want to play with her cousins because Regulus was a baby and Sirius was mean. So she sat in the corner with her knees tucked under her. She knew Mother would scold her about the creases in her new silk dressrobes but she didn't care. Right now she just wanted somebody to play with.

"Here, Droma, I'll teach you how to levitate things." Andromeda beamed and waited patiently as she allowed her black-haired sister to position her fingers in the proper way to hold the wand. Narcissa watched longingly as Bellatrix took Andromeda's arm and gently pulled it into a long swish and then a downward flick.

"This is the wrist movement." Bellatrix explained as she guided the young brunette witch's hand through the movement. "You point it to whatever object you want to lift. And then the spell is 'Wingardium leviosa'." Andromeda lifted a delicate eyebrow.

"Wing-are-drum levi-o-saw?" She giggled at the difficulty of repeating nonsense words. Bellatrix smiled.

"No, Droma. Win-gar-dium. Got it?" Andromeda nodded, and Bellatrix released her sister's wrist. "Ok, just try the wrist movement." No longer smiling, but looking extremely focused, Andromeda brought her wrist into a long swish, and then flicked it down. She looked at Bellatrix expectantly to see if she had done it correctly, and when the black-haired girl smiled, Andromeda returned it with a huge grin.

"That's the easy part. But, if you can believe it, we spent a whole week working on just that – just the wrist movement! I couldn't believe how slow some of them were."

"Well, I suppose the Muggleborns would take a bit longer to get the hang of it." Andromeda reasoned, extending Bellatrix's wand and once again running through the movement to be able to levitate something. Bellatrix laughed and then continued to instruct Andromeda on the proper way to complete the spell.

The little blonde girl in the corner watched with growing envy. Bella had not even let her _touch_ her wand – it was new, bought this past summer at Diagon Alley. Of course, Narcissa had not been allowed to go on the trip to Diagon Alley. This hadn't seemed so very unfair, until Bella argued that she wanted Droma to go with her. So Narcissa had watched from her bedroom window as Mother marched Bellatrix and Andromeda out the front gates of the Black Mansion.

Just then, the enchanted cardinal landed just a tad farther than an arm's length away from Narcissa. It cocked it's to the side, looking at Narcissa with one beady eye. Narcissa froze, not wanting to scare it away. It was a beautiful bit of magic. She had not wanted to like any of Bella's magic, but it was true what everyone had said: Bella _was_ extremely talented. She was only half-way through her first year, but already Bellatrix was accomplishing spells and enchantments that second-years struggled to perform.

The cardinal hopped a bit closer and chirped questioningly before hopping twice more towards Narcissa. Not wanting to frighten it, the blonde girl breathed cautiously, slowly. She couldn't wait until she got her letter for Hogwarts. Then she would get to go to Diagon Alley and shop for ingredients and books and a cauldron and quills and parchment and an owl, if she so wanted. But most of all, she couldn't wait to get a wand. When she got a wand, then she could do beautiful magic, like Bellatrix, like Andromeda would be able to do next year.

"GOTCHA!" The yell startled Narcissa so much she screamed. Bellatrix and Andromeda snapped their attention to Narcissa's corner of the room, where five-year-old Sirius was sprawled across the floor an arm's length away from Narcissa. His younger brother Regulus was standing by his knee, laughing a little boy laugh. The two maids were frowning at the children, alert.

"Is everything all right?" One of the two asked. Regulus nodded, still laughing, clapping his hands. Bellatrix rolled her eyes, not bothering to answer the maid before turning back to Andromeda. Andromeda shook her head at their childishness (she thought she was so big, now that she had reached the double-digits).

"Yes, all is fine Lara, thank you." She informed the maid, and then returned to levitating a small children's book of rhymes.

But all was not fine. Not to Narcissa, who sat in shock, eyes never leaving the place where the red cardinal had been. Sirius opened his cupped hands, but where a little red bird should have been standing there was just a pile of bright red dust.

"Aw, man, where'd it go?" Sirius exclaimed, pushing himself up to his knees. He stared at the pile of red dust, contemplating it. Then he shrugged and got up to his feet.

Narcissa's blue eyes met Sirius's, cold and unfriendly, accusing. He blinked.

"What?" He demanded. But when the blonde girl said nothing he just walked away.

Narcissa stared at the small pile of bright red dust, the remains of the Bella's beautiful magic, the beautiful magic that she herself longed to do.

Yes, Narcissa could not wait to get her very own wand. She could not wait to do her own beautiful magic; her own beautiful magic that couldn't die.

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****edited****


	3. September 1966: Feuds of Forgiveness

Andromeda Black leaned out the window, waving at her parents, beaming excitedly. The day was finally here! It was September first, and she was finally off to Hogwarts. She couldn't wait to get there, to see the castle in all its splendor. Would it be exactly like Bella had described? But of course it would; Bella never lied to her. The past two weeks had been busied with the scurrying to buy school supplies. This time, when she had gone to Diagon Alley with Bella, she was running through her own list, checking off items she had already bought, running to find the best quality of everything. The most exciting part had been finding her wand – or, actually, letting her wand find her. And then she had been allowed to pick out an owl, and she had chosen the horned owl because it was so big and graceful.

Druella and Cygnus both wore small smiles, hands waving slightly as they waited for the Hogwarts Express to take their oldest daughters to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Between them, Cissy stood looking very sad and pitiful. Only seven years old, it would be another four years before Andromeda's blonde little sister would be attending Hogwarts. Bella had left, taking Andromeda's trunk, to find a compartment, no longer bothered by the fact that she would not be seeing her parents until the Christmas holidays. It had not seemed like such a big deal to Andromeda when she had been arguing with her mother over exactly what she was too young for, but now that the day had come and she was standing inside the Hogwarts Express, her stomach was doing flip-flops, and she was both nervous and excited.

Thank Merlin for Bella!

Suddenly, the whistle blew and Andromeda clutched onto the open window, unbalanced as the deep red engine lurched to a start. She yelled out one final good-bye to her parents and little sister, then went to go find Bella.

Andromeda passed several compartments, each one full of students, and none of them holding the eldest Black daughter with heavily lidded eyes and ebony tresses. Worried that she may have skipped a compartment or perhaps had missed Bella in one of the previously searched compartments, she was about to turn back and begin her search anew. But just then she heard an unfamiliar, cool voice behind her.

"Back again, Black? I'm surprised they let you into the school again. My Father told me about your little – ah – mishap last year." Andromeda turned to face the speaker, wary and mistrustful. The speaker was a boy, about Bella's age, very pale and with sleek, white blond hair. He had light grey eyes that would have been very attractive had they not been so jeering.

Andromeda stared at him coolly, confused. He seemed familiar but she couldn't quite remember from where or who he was. She could not figure out how he knew her. Either way, she wasn't liking his attitude.

"Whatever," she replied, rolling her eyes, before turning away haughtily.

"Hey!" He lunged for her, grabbing her arm and pulling her around to face him. Only he had now been joined by another boy. This one was tall and thick, with a chubby face, and eyes and hair the color of mud. He looked younger, about her own age. Both boys were glaring at her with cold eyes.

Andromeda was suddenly frightened. This was her first day, she had not yet gotten to the castle, and already the boys were picking on her! This wasn't how it was supposed to go! Andromeda brought her free arm back and curled her fingers into a tight fist. She was thinking how shocked her mother would be when she got word that her middle daughter had been as ungraceful and unladylike as to punch another student when a wand suddenly appeared near her face. The wand, however, was not pointing at her.

"Malfoy, get your filthy hands off of my sister!" The familiar voice was quiet but filled with barely contained anger.

The blond boy, this Malfoy boy, released his grip on her, looking very confused. Andromeda stumbled backwards to stand next to Bella, immensely relieved, pulling out her own wand. She studied the blond boy coolly. Bella had called him Malfoy; she recognized the name, if not the face. The Malfoys were a pure-blood family that was old friends of her grandfather. The confusion on the blond boy's face disappeared as he understood what had just occurred. His big friend, however, had not.

"There's two of you?" He asked dumbly, looking at Bella, then Andromeda, and back again. Bella rolled her eyes.

"No, you idiot, didn't you hear me? This is-"

"No, Crabbe, Bellatrix has not learned how to duplicate herself. She has simply brought a tag along." Although he was addressing his friend, Malfoy never once let his steady cool gaze stray from Bella's face. "I was not under the impression that your younger sister was to be joining us so soon."

"Well, she has, and she'll be in your year. What's the matter, Malfoy? Scared?" Bella taunted.

"Scared? Why, what for? I have nothing against your sister." He glanced at Andromeda and offered a tiny smile that did not reach his eyes. Andromeda held his gaze without flinching, raising her chin just a fraction.

"I am sure she understands that what occurred was just a mistake and will forgive me. The school year might even make us close friends." He continued smoothly. Bella opened her mouth to retort, but Andromeda intercepted her older sister.

"Of course I understand," she replied, just as smoothly as the fair boy. Her lips curled with the hint of a smile. "Many others have made the same mistake you have. Let us shake on it and forget it ever occurred." Bella shot her sister a dark, accusing look and hissed "Dromeda!" under her breath. But Andromeda ignored her.

Malfoy glanced at Bella over Andromeda's shoulder, smirking. He was confident as he sauntered to meet Andromeda. She smiled sweetly and slowly extended a hand. He flashed Bella another smirk before extending a pale hand. But just before Andromeda's fingers met his, she reeled her hand back and punched him square in the nose.

"Yes, I'll forgive you." She told the boy, who was now bent over clutching his nose, over Bella's laugh of glee and his groans of pain. And before Crabbe could even register what had happened and react upon it, Andromeda had grabbed Bella's hand and allowed her to lead the way to their compartment, laughing all the way there.

And so began the feud between Malfoy and the sisters of Black.

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****edited****


	4. April 1968: Why You Gotta Be So Mean

Narcissa sat with her legs folded on the soft spring grass. It was cool outside, but the sun was warm on her skin, kissing her face as she turned towards it like a flower. It was a beautiful Easter day. Mother and Aunt Walburga sat on the shaded patio, drinking tea and chatting pleasantly, wands lying on the small round table between them. Sirius and Regulus were chasing each other across the yard. Regulus, who had turned five in November, could barely keep pace with his older and taller brother, who would be seven in the summer. Bellatrix and Andromeda had returned from Hogwarts for a week for the Easter holiday. Bella was finishing homework inside the house; with more than half of her second year at Hogwarts already completed, she had a lot more homework than Droma, who had finished a couple of hours ago. When the children had all moved outside, Droma had offered, to Narcissa's delight, to braid her hair.

This was how Narcissa Black happened to be sitting in the grass without anyone scolding her about the risk of getting grass stains all over her robes. The steady rhythm of the brush through her hair had lulled her into quiet contentedness, and she didn't even mind the not-so-light tugs on her scalp as Droma's cool fingers weaved her hair into an intricate design. _This_ was how she always imagined being sisters felt! _This_ was what she had always wanted, when Bella and Droma had spent so much of their time rejecting her. No one was calling her a baby; no one was telling her to go away. It was such a wonderful feeling, to be wanted by Andromeda – to be loved, not resented.

Then the brushing and the tugging all stopped. Narcissa opened her eyes, blinking against the sunlight. She waited patiently for Droma to start up again.

"Well, it's certainly not perfect, but it will do." Droma announced, sounding satisfied. Narcissa heard the whisper of silk robes brushing against grass blades as Droma crawled around to scrutinize her work from the front. Narcissa sat quite still as her sister's brown eyes roamed her head. Droma made several last minute touches, using her spit to flatten fly-aways. But Narcissa did not seem to mind, or even notice. She was watching Andromeda's face, watching her sister's deep brown eyes as they scanned her face and hair.

"There! All done!" Droma declared happily. Rising to her feet, she pulled out her wand and summoned a hand mirror. Droma handed the gold mirror to the blonde child, who gazed into it eagerly. It was beautiful what Droma had done! It was not perfect; far from it. But Narcissa had never seen a more beautiful hairdo. Half of her long blonde hair was pulled up into a bun, with strings of thin braids twirling into it. Droma had even stuck in some little white wild flowers. Narcissa saw Droma wander over to their mother from the corner of her eye, but did not follow, so absorbed was she in her 'do. She smiled at her reflection, radiant, and seemingly oblivious to the sagging locks and rebellious strands of hair that refused to be pulled into the 'do.

"Careful, Cissy, you'll break the mirror!" A loud, obnoxious boy's voice rang out in her ear. Narcissa dropped the mirror immediately, turning her head to scowl at her cousin. He laughed loudly before reaching over to pull her hair – hard. Narcissa screamed, in pain and in rage, before jumping to her feet. But Sirius was already dashing away, yelling taunting phrases over his shoulder between laughs. As Narcissa raced after him, Regulus joined in on his brother's side. Furious, Narcissa set off after him after he came and pushed her. Trust Sirius and Regulus to ruin a perfect day!

"Aunt Walburga and Mother say to stop immediately! Come on, you three, stop fooling around!" Andromeda was jogging alongside Narcissa, just far enough to be left out of the squabble.

"Sirius started it!" Narcissa slowed to a stop, breathing heavily. But her moment's pause gave Sirius the time he needed to sneak up behind her and yank on her blonde locks once more. Narcissa gave a shrill scream, close to tears now as she set of after him again, wondering furiously why Droma didn't hex Sirius and Regulus.

"Sirius!" Droma yelled at his back. A flash of purple streaked by Narcissa's face, startling her into a halt. She watched as the purple hit Sirius square in the back, and he tumbled to the ground, giving a yell of surprise. Narcissa turned around and found Bellatrix standing not too far away, wand out and glaring furiously at the boys. Then everyone began to speak at once.

"Bellatrix! That was horrible!"

"What you did to Sirius, what you did to Sirius!"

"I hexed him, you little gnome, and if you're not careful I'll do the same to you."

"Bella! He's only five, you can't expect him to behave properly!"

"Sirius pulled my hair! He ruined my braids!"

"Dromeda, anyone who hurts my sisters is eligible to be jinxed. He had it coming."

"He's not even seven yet. He's _little_, Bella!"

"I am _not_ little, and if I had a wand like you did I could have taken you on! Just you see, when I get a wand-"

"Shut up, Sirius."

"_Bella_!"

"Don't tell my brother to shut up!"

"You're _mean_ Sirius! You're mean and I don't like you-"

"Go away, Cissy-"

"Don't touch me!"

"Would the two of you-"

"Enough!" The voice resonated above the bickering of the cousins, commanding and full of authority. Bellatrix, Andromeda, Narcissa, Sirius, and Regulus all glanced to where two grown witches were looming over them, wands in hand, faces darkened with The Look that only mothers could achieve. Druella and Walburga Black then proceeded to scold the children, silencing their attempts to defend themselves with chilling looks.

But adult assistance had come too late. Narcissa's braids, done by Andromeda with patience and care, were now hanging limp and undone. Narcissa stood with tears of frustration and dejection threatening to spill over. The possibility of a loving relationship between Sirius and Narcissa Black had been severed forever.

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****edited****


	5. July 1969: Beauty You Won't See

Andromeda sat before the giant mirror with the elaborate, pure-gold rim. This mirror, like so many other items found throughout the enormous house of Black, was an antique, and handed down generation after generation. The solid gold frame was mined and wielded by dwarfs of the Transylvanian Mountains. Dancing around the frame were various scenes of well-known stories – two fearsome dragons entwined around each other in a duel, a cauldron with a single foot, a majestic unicorn touching its horn to the outstretched arm of a maiden, Babbitty as a rabbit poking out of a tree stump. The figures were carved delicately, and no detail – not even the scales of the dragons – was carved absentmindedly.

It was a beautiful piece, to be sure.

And so it was with despondent bitterness that Andromeda recognized the stark contrast between the majestic mirror and the unremarkable face staring pitifully out from its reflecting glass.

The middle Black daughter turned her head left and right, scrutinizing her face in every possible angle, trying to find something remarkable on the surface that would reflect the individuality within. But she could not find anything – not in the brown waves that bounced over her shoulders, not the brown eyes, not the thin dark eyebrows or the clear complexion. Because none of these, Andromeda reminded herself, was all that special. She was pretty, it was true, but next to her sisters, who were _beautiful_, she was a troll.

Bellatrix held all the confidence of a goddess. Her dark features contrasted with her milky skin so perfectly that, mixed with her saucy attitude, she was dark Victorian beauty. Her tangles of curls, blacker and richer than ebony, rippled down her back in disorganized perfection; sex hair, that's what the boys called it. Her eyes were cobalt, rimmed with thick black lashes, set beneath high-arching black eyebrows. They were always lit with a haughty coolness. When she gave you her attention, she always seemed to be silently daring you to try and be better than her. She had been blessed with curves in all the right places, in all the right sizes. Her ambitious nature and uncanny ability to twist everything one said made her a terrible enemy and a powerful friend.

Then there was Narcissa; beautiful, baby Cissy, who was not such a baby anymore. She, too, had pale skin, softened by her light features. Her blonde hair was long, silky. The light lashes laced dazzling blue eyes that held all the innocence of a sheltered ten-year-old. She was all poise and soft confidence, and did not flaunt what she had – she didn't have too. The boys that gravitated towards her were different from those who lusted after Bella, but they too could never get enough of her. Girls liked her as well, for she was soft-spoken and polite, and was above publicly displaying what she called "ugly" emotions. Cissy was sweet and soft, angelic and amiable, with a quiet strength.

Stuck in between was Andromeda. Nothing special, nothing to distinguish her. She had Bella's mess of curls, but had no aura of mystery; that was lost with the muddy coloring of the unruly curls. Her eyes did not pierce the soul or melt the heart; they were just a standard brown, with standard brown eyelashes stuck onto pale lids. Her pale skin didn't glow like Bella's or Cissy's; instead it made her look sickly, as if she would do far better setting up a permanent residence at St. Mungo's.

The only good thing she could see was that her skin was clean and clear – oh, no, she didn't even have that much. There it was, a small red zit, poking up at her hairline.

Andromeda sighed unhappily, eyes rolling across her reflection, noting that she looked like a washed out version of Bella. But of course, if all Bella's most notable features were washed out, it didn't leave Bella.

It left _her_, looking about as exquisite as a Muggle.

And so she turned away from the extraordinarily beautiful mirror, sparing it the shame of having to behold her ordinary face.

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****edited****


	6. August 1970: Mark of a Preteen

It had started as an ordinary day. Druella had gone off with Cygnus to Knockturn Alley to order some items. Their daughters had taken the day to relax inside. Bellatrix and Andromeda had escaped their younger sister by claiming to have lots of homework. Which was not a complete lie: they had received homework to be completed for the upcoming year of Hogwarts, and their procrastination would find them scrambling to finish essays and charts on the last week. But this was not what the two oldest daughters had planned on doing this summer day. This day would be dedicated to relaxing.

Andromeda was sprawled out on her bed, head propped up on one hand, the other drawing figures in the air with her wand. Bellatrix was lying on her back, head resting against Dromeda's back. It was a cool August day, and so the shades were pulled back, welcoming the warmth and light of the sun, and the large windows drawn up, allowing the cool breeze to sweep through the room. It was a peaceful scene, with both sisters content simply to be in each others' company.

Until Narcissa came rushing in.

The bedroom door banged open, and both dark-haired girls sat up, startled. Narcissa's long blonde hair was pulled back into a high ponytail and her wide eyes, which for the whole summer had shined with the anxious excitement of starting Hogwarts, were filled with fright.

"What's the matter, Cissy?" Bellatrix asked, concerned, as Andromeda slipped off the bed to place an arm around her shoulders comfortingly. Narcissa placed a slender, pale hand on her sister's, eyes darting between those of Bellatrix and Andromeda. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but then flushed and said nothing. Andromeda exchanged a puzzled look with Bellatrix.

"Cissy, if you aren't going to tell us what's wrong, then you can figure it out yourself and leave." Bellatrix informed her impatiently. She loved her little sister but she just didn't have the patience to deal with this beating-around-the-bush nonsense.

"I…I" Narcissa stammered nervously. Then, "I'm bleeding." She looked near tears. Bellatrix frowned, confused.

"Where?" Andromeda asked. Bellatrix shot her a look, and was surprised to see an amused look upon her face. What did she know that Bella herself could not decipher?

Narcissa turned a light shade of pink as she pointed below, eyes downcast as she refused to look at either of her sisters. And then Bellatrix understood. She laughed, relieved that this was not a major disaster of any kind.

"Well, this is going to be awkward." Andromeda straightened up, letting her arms fall back to her sides.

"No it's not." Bellatrix objected. "You just got your period, Cissy. It's completely normal."

"You _do_ know what your period is, right?" Andromeda demanded, looking like she would very much appreciate not having to get into an explanation. Narcissa scowled, but the anger was drowned with the fright and helplessness that ruled her face.

"Of course I know what that is! But why is this happening? Why I am getting this _now_?" She seemed close to tears.

"It just happens, Cissy, no big deal." Bellatrix laid back down, almost bored now. "Just put on an absorption pad. You'll be fine." Narcissa still looked frightened, though not quite so helpless. Then Bellatrix sat up, a grin on her face.

"Aw! Cissy, you're growing up! Oh, Cissy, you're not a baby anymore!"

"I wasn't a baby before, Bella!" She replied angrily, contradicting the statement by sticking out her tongue. Andromeda sighed, took her sister by the hand, and led her to a bathroom. There, she handed her an absorption pad, which, she explained, was simply a thick rag with an Absorption Spell placed on it. Narcissa turned bright red as Andromeda explained how to put it on, and looked uncertain when the brunette handed her the pad.

"I'll wait for you back in my room." Andromeda informed her little sister, then left. Back in her bedroom, Bellatrix was laying on her back, staring up at the ceiling, an amused smirk on her lips.

"How are you so calm about this?" Andromeda asked her, flopping herself across Bellatrix's stomach. Bellatrix gave out an "_oomph_" and smacked the former across the head as Andromeda's weight landed on her stomach, but she didn't push her off.

"You stop finding it weird and embarrassing after a while. All girls go through it, so it's not like you're alone. And then soon you don't care if the boys know. As far as I'm concerned, it's because I _have_ my period that they are so interested in us. They can't screw us if we don't get it, you know." Andromeda said nothing, a bit uncomfortable with Bellatrix's blunt way of addressing such a topic.

Narcissa entered the room once more, this time without the slamming of the bedroom door or the frightened eyes. Instead, she looked uncomfortable.

"What's wrong with you?"

Narcissa scowled up at her sisters.

"It's bothersome and uncomfortable and I don't like it."

The laughter began with Andromeda, and then quickly spread to Bellatrix. It took a while to reach Narcissa, but soon she too joined her sisters on the bed and the laughter.

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****edited****


	7. September 1970:Take a Deep Breath and Go

The huge doors opened, revolving slowly on their hinges. She took a deep breath before walking through them, following the procession of other first-years. Her clear blue eyes took in the large room, the many floating candles that illuminated the room with a golden glow, the ceiling that looked like the sky, the teachers sitting in a row in elaborate high-backed chairs at the front, the faces of the older students, the battered old hat sitting upon a three-legged stool.

They piled at the front of the room, she just one of the many. Her eyes gleamed with excitement. The professor began calling out names alphabetical by surname. She would be among the first to be called. She would be among the first to be sorted. She had no fears, no doubts, no worries. This was her place; this was her right.

"Alvarez, Jessica" walked to the Hufflepuff table on shaking legs, a relieved look on her freckled face.

"Avery, Catarina" sat for almost a whole minute before being sorted into Slytherin.

"Black, Narcissa!" Came the loud, clear call. Eyes searched, curious, for the face to the name. She smiled slightly, and, taking a deep breath to steady herself, floated to the stool. She turned, then placed herself gracefully upon the seat, facing the seated students and the group of anxious newcomers. Her eyes did not search for comfort or scan the rows of faces for two familiar ones. She was all confidence, poise. She belonged here.

The hat was placed over her head. It slid down her forehead, tattered brim hitting her nose. It hissed in her ear, whispered things about herself. She barely listened. She didn't need a hat to tell her what she was capable of. She didn't need a hat to tell her where she belonged. She was here. She had yearned for this day for so long and now it had finally come!

Then the decision rang through the Hall: "Slytherin!"

Narcissa pulled the hat off from her head, setting it daintily down upon the stool once more, nearly skipping with glee to the table on the right. The table that was now clapping and hooting welcomingly for her. The table clad in silver and green. Narcissa sat beside Catarina Avery, the girl from the train, already her best friend. Then she turned to beam at the two familiar faces – the two faces that mattered the most. Bellatrix and Andromeda beamed back.

Narcissa Black settled on the bench, smiling to herself, knowing that she was finally at Hogwarts, where she would finally learn how to do beautiful magic.


	8. November 1970: The Trouble with Boobs

When Bellatrix Black walked into the fifth-year girls' dormitory, she had not expected to find her sister alone. And she had not been expecting to find her sister half-dressed, standing before the full-length mirror, scowling fiercely at her reflection.

"Er, I can come at a better time if you are busy." Bellatrix teased. Her lips curled in a teasing smile as her younger girl met her eyes in the mirror and glared. Bellatrix closed the door behind her before flopping herself onto her stomach on Andromeda's four-poster bed. She rested her head on one hand and twirled her wand in the other. Andromeda sighed heavily.

"I'm fifteen, Bella! All the other girls' are much bigger."

Bellatrix glanced up at her sister and tried not to chuckle. She knew what she was talking about: boobs.

"They'll grow." The black-haired girl assured the younger one.

"I'm _fifteen_!" She repeated exasperatedly.

"Yes, you said." Bellatrix repeated calmly, eyes on her wand as she twirled it about in her hand. "What exactly is your problem anyways?"

"They are too small." Andromeda whined.

"Dromeda, you fit into a B cup. What is wrong with that?"

"I just _barely_ fit a B cup. All the other girls _definitely_ fill a B cup, if they aren't a bit larger." With this, Dromeda turned to face Bellatrix, hands on hips.

"There is nothing wrong with being a B cup." Bellatrix informed her in a bored voice.

"Oh, you can talk! You're a _C_ cup. Nothing wrong with _your_ boobs." With barely hid amusement, Bellatrix said nothing, but watched her sister as she stared at her chest in the mirror, forehead creased in a frustrated frown.

"I'm not asking for much," Andromeda said softly, more to herself than to her older sister. "It's not like I want to be a D. I just want them a _little_ bigger."

Andromeda gnawed at her bottom lip without realizing; it was a terrible habit, one she was constantly being scolded for by her mother or governess. She just felt so frustrated! She had just managed to be able to where a B cup this past summer. She had been extremely happy about this; until she learned that Cissy, little Cissy who was eleven years old, who had just started Hogwarts, had to accompany to accompany her on a trip to Diagon Alley because she, too, had grown in bust size. And Cissy was eleven – eleven!

Curses, she wished she could have Bella's figure!

"I could probably help you with that." Bellatrix spoke slowly, an idea forming. Andromeda shot her sister a sidelong glance, suspicious. It wasn't that she didn't trust Bella – the black-haired girl was the best sister and friend anyone could ever have – but sometimes she did tend to get carried away with her ideas. Get carried _way_ away.

"It's a simple spell," Bellatrix added hastily upon seeing her sister's face. "Won't be too hard. And I'll add _minima_ to it so that it won't be so massive." Excited now, Bellatrix swung her legs around and hopped off of the four-poster. Andromeda shifted away from the mirror so that both girls were now facing each other. Their similarities were shocking; at a glance, they would have appeared to be identical copies of each other. But a more attentive look would have pointed out the subtle contrast between the fifteen-year-old and the sixteen-year-old girls.

Andromeda crossed her arms in front of her chest and, with hesitant excitement, voiced her fears.

"You sure you can do this?"

"Absolutely." Bellatrix nodded confidently. Then she pointed her wand at her sister's chest. When Andromeda hesitated, Bella smiled reassuringly. "Come on, Dromeda. I would never hurt you."

"Not on purpose." Andromeda retaliated. She took a deep breath, then grinned. "Alright then. But not _too_ much, okay?" Bella nodded, focused now on Andromeda's half-exposed breasts. Then she raised her wand, and for a split second Andromeda was filled with the thrill of anxious anticipation.

"_Engorgio minima_!" She called clearly, forcefully. Bellatrix grinned with success and Andromeda squealed delightedly as, right before their eyes, Andromeda's breasts began to grow…and grow… and grow…

Andromeda's breasts strained against the constraints of her bra, round and pushed up. When she twirled to inspect them in the mirror, they bounced against the top of the fabric. Even after Andromeda froze before the mirror, looking at her reflection, they magically enhanced breasts jiggled slightly, gleaming a milky white. She stared horrified into the mirror.

"Bella, what did you do?" she shrieked.

"I only tried making them bigger like you-"

"I said a _little_ bit! A _little bit_, Bella! A girl's boobs don't grow this fast!" Her voice hit a note of hysteria. "Everyone is going to notice! And they are all going to know I tried charming my boobs to grow, and then what am I going to do?" She whirled around to glower at her sister, who was biting her lip apprehensively. "Put them back! Put them back to how they were!" Bellatrix hesitated before smoothing out her face, throwing a lock of black curls over her shoulder. Then she pointed her wand once more at her sister's chest.

"_Reducio minima_!" Like a balloon deflating, Andromeda's enlarged breasts began to shrink. Relief washed over both girls for a moment, until they realized that the reducing spell was did not seem to want to stop. The girls watched in horror as Andromeda's breasts shrunk to just little bumps, the bra no longer of any use.

They stood there in silence for several seconds, identical looks of bewilderment. Then, Bella broke out into a fit of laughter. Andromeda scowled at her.

"This isn't funny, Bella! Look what you did! I'm," she indicated her chest. "Flat!"

"I'm….sorry…Dromeda….I….didn't mean….to." Bellatrix gasped out between laughs. Andromeda glared at Bellatrix, hands on hips, looking quite frightening. It was not until Bellatrix began to clutch her stomach that the younger huffed out in impatient anger.

"That's it!" She walked to her trunk at the foot of the four-poster, grabbed a black robe and threw it on. "I'm going to Madame Pomfrey. And _you_," she took Bellatrix's wrist in a death-grip "are coming with me."

So out Andromeda Black marched, into and out of the Slytherin common room, glaring ferociously at anyone in her way, a laughing Bella in tow.

* * *

****edited****


	9. December 1970: Fairytale Princess

It was the day of Christmas Eve. Cygnus Black III had returned late that night from business attended overseas, and so had declared that he would sleep in late. The rest of the mansion of Black, however, was bustling with activity. The Winter Ball, hosted annually by the Black family, would occur that night and there were many preparations that had to be seen to before the guests began arriving. Cygnus's wife, Druella nee Rosier Black, had been overseeing the transformation of the large house from a regal mansion to shimmering wonderland of red and gold; her supervision would guarantee that the process was carried out with as little amount of interruptions as possible.

There was much to be done, to be sure. The floors and windows had been swept, scrubbed, and shined by the house elves several days earlier, but a quick sweep of all the rooms on the first floor was required. The fresh garland and strings of ruby cranberries had to be strung on the banister, tied with sparkling gold bows. The glittering snowflakes needed to be levitated, along with the red and white candles that would illuminate the ballroom and large dining room where the guests would be. The enormous tree had to be dressed in gold and white ornaments, trimmed with a red sash and fairy lights that would twinkle from within the tree. The pork had to be roasted, the sweet potatoes caramelized in cinnamon and hazelnuts, the corn cooked, the salad tossed. The gingerbread house had to be assembled and decorated, the cookies baked, and the pies chilled.

The Black family was, without a doubt, the oldest and purest lineage in the entire British wizarding community. So it went without saying that the invitees would be limited to wizarding families of pure blood and high prestige. This included such families as the Averys, the Longbottoms, the Yaxleys, the Potters, and even a couple of families of superior lineage from France. Many would attend, and some would politely decline. But attendance was not what was to be admired; the reception of an invitation alone was considered the highest honor.

But this was nothing new. As previously stated, all this activity occurred every year at about the same time. The difference between this year and all the other previous years was that the second daughter of Cygnus and Druella, Andromeda Black, had at last turned fifteen that past summer. And so, she had finally become of age to be formally presented to the elite of the British wizarding community by means of this Winter Ball.

OoO oOo OoO

Hair done and faces delicately powdered and painted, the two oldest daughters of Black had only to change into their dress robes. Ancilla, the young maid, and Gertrude, the girls' governess, had gone to attend on Bellatrix and help her change into her evening dress robes without altering her hair. And so it was for this reason that she found herself alone in her room and took the opportunity to admire her dress robes, which was laid on her bed, clean and pressed.

It was a beautiful dress. It had taken four shopping trips with her mother for the girl to finally settle on this one. She fingered the skirt, letting the smooth organza flow through her fingers. Her mother had been hesitant about allowing her daughter to wear strapless dress robes to such an event but at the girl's insistent pleading had given in with a delicate sigh.

Andromeda picked up the dress carefully, lovingly, taking it with her to the full-length mirror. The girl couldn't help but smile as she placed the dress in front of her, pressing it to her chest. The high-waisted dress was a deep cranberry color, made with the finest, smoothest organza. The satin sash was a modest shade of gold and matched the gold jewels sewed into the neckline of the dress.

She spun around, beaming as the long skirt fanned out around her. How wonderful it was to finally be able to attend! How thrilling it was to not have to be caged in the playroom, with her little sister and cousins! She was ready for tonight, ready to finally be seen as a young woman, not as a little girl. She imagined being lead into the ballroom by her father, who would proudly waltz her around, introduce her to all of the adults. She knew most of them, of course; they had all been over at one time or another. But she would not be introduced as just one of three sisters. She would be introduced as a lady of the most ancient and noble name in the British wizarding world.

Had Bella felt like this? She wondered, as she twirled around her room, the beautiful dress still pressed to her chest, on tip-toes to mimic wearing her golden heels. Had Bella felt so elated, so ecstatic? Had Bella felt herself transforming into a beautiful woman as the night wore on?

The dark-haired girl's smile never wavered, not even when Gertrude scolded her for dancing around her room. Didn't she know that she could rip the dress or smear the paint on her eyes even before the Ball had started? And what was she doing, bouncing about when she could undo the intricate bun that had taken hours to finish? But the girl could only beam in response. Gertrude and Ancilla helped her into the dress; the material slipped over her skin like water sliding past stones. So soft, so delicate, so perfect.

Ancilla sat her on a cushioned stool before bringing out the golden heels. They shimmered on her feet, elegant and grown-up. The girl held her breath as the young servant took her by the hand to the full-length mirror.

The girl stared in awe at her reflection, at the princess standing poised and elegant in the reflecting glass. There was a girl, tall, elegant and mature, with a cranberry-colored dress hugging her waist, staring back at her. Her dark brown curls were twisted into a tight coil on the nape of her neck, just to the side, sparkling beads of crystals tucked into it. Was that her? _Could_ that be her? Where had she been, this regal looking girl, all this time?

She gazed at her reflection for a moment longer, before lifting her chin and gliding out of the changing room. She left her hands by her side, her shoulders back, her spine straight, and her head up. She felt magnificent. She felt regal.

She felt (for the first time that she could recall) like a Black.

The girl placed a pale hand delicately on the banister rail. She could hear the festivities bellow, hear the gossiping chatter of the women and the low murmurs of the men. She placed a golden toe on the step, then another, and another, trailing her hand soundlessly over the rail as she descended the steps. The cranberries, intertwined with the garland, matched beautifully with the color of her dress robes, she thought.

The room went quiet, as the guest noticed the princess entering their presence. Murmurs and whispers rippled through the large room, all eyes gazing at this newest hostess. But she paid no heed to the whispers; her eyes were on the man that met her at the bottom of the steps.

"Father?" the word slipped from her lightly painted lips, questioning his approval. His dark eyes met hers, and her heart fluttered as she recognized something in his expression she had never recognized before. Could she be mistaken? He, who had always secretly scorned her for taking the place of the son he could have had – should have had – seemed to now be gazing at her with love and respect. It was as if he truly was seeing her for the first time.

His eyes crinkled when he gave her a small smile, deepening the crow's feet that were beginning to form at the corners of his dark eyes. Then he turned away from her, and his deep voice, full of emotion and pride, resonated through the room.

"I proudly present to you tonight, my daughter, Andromeda Black."

He faced her once more as the guests broke into polite applause.

"Tonight, you are an elegant princess, my daughter." He whispered to her, extending a large hand.

She slipped her small hand into his and allowed him to lead her to the ballroom, heart alive with happiness.

* * *

****edited****


	10. April 1971: Just a Nobody

"Black! Hey, Black!" A male voice hollered through the corridor. Andromeda sighed and closed her eyes, trying to muster up some patience. Then she opened her eyes and turned to face the tall boy approaching her, a strained smile plastered to her face.

"What do you want, Tonks?" She asked in a falsely sweet voice. She could see his friends waiting just far off to give the illusion of privacy but close enough that if they strained to hear – as they were doing now – they could catch snippets of the conversation.

"Well, I was wondering…how are you?" She stared into the soft brown eyes of Ted Tonks, chin raised haughtily. The Hufflepuff boy smiled tentatively; she did not return it.

"I am well, thank you. But, if you do not excuse me, I will be late to class." And she turned on her heel, ready to march off to Potions class.

"Wait!" He sounded desperate. Andromeda stopped as she felt his fingers brush her wrist, but did not turn around to face the sandy-haired boy. He rushed in front of her, blocking her way to class. His anxious state did nothing to help his usual disheveled look; if anything, it made him appear slightly more untidy and flustered. His black robes were slipping off of one shoulder and his tie, the yellow and black of Hufflepuff House striped across it, was coming undone. His white shirt, visible from beneath the black school robe, looked as if it needed desperate pressing.

"And if I am late to class, then Slughorn will most definitely have me in detention, Tonks, and then I will not be well but extremely vexed." His nervous smile faltered as he heard the impatient snap that leaked out in her tone. Andromeda felt bad – honestly, she did – but Tonks was so tiresome! And while she was sure she would not land herself in detention, she most certainly was going to be late to class.

"I – just – two minutes, please, Black?"

She knew she should not be doing this – knew that she _really_ should not be doing this. But he looked so pathetic, looking at her with pleading brown eyes, and she knew that he must have been planning for a while to find the nerve to come talk to her. So she popped her hip and tilted her head, indicating him to get on with it.

"I was wondering if," he took a deep breath, "If you were planning to go to Hogsmeade this weekend. There's going to be a visit over there and-"

"Yes, I am quite aware of that, Tonks." She cut across his explanation. "And, yes, I was planning on going."

His face lit up hopefully.

"Cool, so was I. And," here he began to shuffle his feet nervously. "I was wondering if you would want to go with me." He glanced at her hopefully, holding his breath.

Andromeda sighed to herself. Well, he had finally asked her. There was no denying it anymore. Her friends would have a field day telling her 'I told you so'.

"That's very nice of you, Tonks, and I appreciate your offer." She told him steadily. Uncertainty flickered through his face, as he recognized the kind words that always preceded the words of rejection. "But your offer comes three days too late. I am already going with someone." Andromeda watched as his face fell, disappointment clearly etched upon it.

"If you don't mind me asking…who are you going with?"

Andromeda lifted her chin slightly, mouth curving into a small smile as she answered.

"Xavier Mulciber." She informed him, and there was no missing the darkness that passed through his face. She felt her pride prickle with irritability; Mulciber may not have been the most popular with the Hufflepuffs but he was very good looking and a seventh-year; she had been very flattered when he had asked her to Hogsmeade. Tonks may not have liked the older boy but he needn't have showed his dislike so plainly!

"Now, if you will excuse me, I really must be heading off to class!" She pushed passed him, marching off to the dungeons where Potions class always took place, leaving Ted Tonks staring after her.

There was just some things he would not understand, indeed could not understand. She was Pureblood, a Black, part of the most noble and ancient family in the wizarding world. And he – well, he was a Muggle-born, a Nobody.

And a Black did _not_ get seen with a Nobody.

* * *

****edited****


	11. August 1971: Hot-Blooded Defiance

It was dinner time at the house of Black. Cygnus and Druella sat on opposite ends of the rectangular table, their three daughters seated on the sides. The windows were drawn, so that the warm summer night breeze could enter the house. Their daughters were speaking quietly (ladies did not shout) among themselves. Druella, finished with her soup, was now sitting comfortable, leaning her back against the straight-backed chair on which she was seated. Her husband was still bringing spoonfuls of the soup to his mouth; she would wait for his signal until she brought up the subject, and he would not do so until he had eaten his soup. So she watched her daughters. Bellatrix sat to her left, face lit with enthusiasm, as she retold some school adventure between spoonfuls. She had inherited Cygnus's ebony black hair and wild curls. Her eyes had grown darker with age, just as expressive as always. Bellatrix never took things in moderation; she lived without regrets and held herself with loud confidence.

To Druella's immediate right sat her middle child, Andromeda. She was very similar to Bellatrix in looks and personality, though perhaps not quite so extreme. Andromeda's features were softer than those of Bellatrix, whose were striking black. Andromeda's dark brown hair did not curl so tightly as her older sister, and her brown eyes were angled differently, so that they appeared softer, kinder, with a more modest brown than Bellatrix's haughty black. Her nature was responsible and respectable, mature and collected, but Bellatrix's influence had given birth to a feisty attitude. Andromeda had always looked up to Bellatrix, who was her elder by a year; even now, as Andromeda interrupted Bellatrix's tale to add in her own details or contradict Bellatrix's version for her own, her eyes gazed at her older sister with respect and admiration.

Then there was Narcissa. Druella couldn't help but smile slightly as she watched her youngest daughter. Rest assured that she loved all three of her daughters very much; if she had to choose, however, then she would undeniably choose Narcissa as her favorite. Perhaps this was due to the fact that Narcissa's temperament was much closer to Druella's than those of her older daughters. Narcissa was soft-spoken, reserved, and guarded her emotions. Oh, she could be quite bratty and spoiled within the walls of her own home – it was only natural that she would be attended to and pampered more than Bellatrix or Andromeda – but in public there was never any worry that the youngest daughter of Black would tarnish the reputation of herself or her family name. Four years younger than Andromeda and five years younger than Bellatrix, she was forever trying to join their games. This was why she was now leaning forwards slightly, blonde hair swinging from side to side as she turned her head to face first Bellatrix, then Andromeda, and back again, soup cold and forgotten as all of her attention had been stolen by the story her older sisters were weaving.

From the corner of her eye, Druella saw Cygnus place the spoon beside the empty bowl, lean back and lace his fingers on the table. Druella tilted her head towards him, holding the gaze of his dark beady eyes. He tilted his head, answering her silent question. She raised her chin regally to tell him she understood.

"Bellatrix," her voice was calm, but commanding. Her daughters' chatters died down immediately, and their head swiveled, focused now on the quiet woman who was their mother. "It has come into your father's and my attention that it is about time that your future was decided. Have you given any thought on this matter?"

Druella watched silently; her face revealed nothing as Bellatrix exchanged a look with Andromeda. When she spoke, her voice was even, but her eyes and expression were amused, mocking.

"Not really. Professor McGonagall wishes that I pursue something in the field of Transfiguration. She suggested Auror, but I have no interest in being somebody's bodyguard. She also suggested studying Transfiguration and animal anatomy in greater detail so that I could go back to Hogwarts and teach with her. To be honest, I think she really is hoping I choose to teach."

"What? _My_ daughter? Become a teacher?" Cygnus scoffed. "My dear, I do hope you have higher plans for yourself than teaching a bunch of ungainly school children."

"Father, believe me, the last thing I want to do is have to put up with a bunch of little children. I'd probably just end up hexing all of them, because a whole lot of them are incredibly stupid."

"Bellatrix," Druella scolded softly for her use of such a term. "How many times must I tell you that that word is not to be used? It makes you sound like a common street witch."

"It's all right, Druella." Cygnus said, brushing away his wife's reprimand with his hand. "I'm sure Bellatrix was simply referring to those Muggle-borns. No need to use niceties when referring to _them_. And I imagine some of them are remarkably slow. But, tell me, child," he leaned in, peering into his eldest daughter's face. "Have you given any other thoughts on your future? Any plans, any ideas?"

Bellatrix gave a tiny smirk.

"Father, it seems as if you and Mother are trying very hard to get me to say something you very dearly want to hear. Now, instead of running around in all these circles, why not just get straight to the point?" Andromeda bit her lip to stop a giggle, and Narcissa pressed a hand to her lips to conceal a smile; both of them watched Bellatrix in admiration as she gave her parents a smooth response with just a touch of her normal, saucy attitude.

Druella peered coolly at her daughter; Bellatrix was never subtle, never saw fit to tame the feisty warrior that was her being. But one day that tongue of hers would bury her in more trouble than she could climb out of, and Merlin help her when that day arrived.

"What your father and I are asking, Bellatrix, are your plans of matrimony." Bellatrix, for the first time since Druella could recall, was momentarily surprised speechless, and simply blinked at Druella. It only lasted a moment though.

"Matrimony?" Bellatrix repeated, a twisted smirk on her face. "No, I have not given it any thought. I am not so eager to sign my fate away to someone else – especially when that someone is a man."

Cygnus chuckled.

"Come now, Bellatrix, matrimony is not all that bad. It is inescapable, for you; you must continue the line of Black, even if your offspring will not share such a noble surname. Perhaps it will even be enjoyable for you, if the man was a respectable, honest man with a pure name. Tell me, what are your thoughts on Lucius?"

Bellatrix frowned, clearly not recognizing the name.

"Who?"

"Lucius," Druella repeated coolly, patience for her strong-willed daughter waning. "Abraxas's son."

It appeared that this name did not ring any bells with Bellatrix either. Her face remained blank. Druella sighed softly at her daughter's apparent lack of keen observation.

"Abraxas, Bellatrix. Abraxas Mal-"

But at just that moment, it dawned on Bellatrix just who her parents had in mind to be her future husband, and she barked out a laugh.

"_Malfoy_?" Bellatrix laughed, as if to a witty joke. Andromeda cracked a grin, eyes bright, exchanging glances with her older sister, exchanging thoughts and hidden messages as only they could do. Cygnus did not smile but frowned, his eyes cool. Bellatrix looked at her father, awaiting a gentle denial, a change of name. When Cygnus continued to frown and Druella offered no correction, Bellatrix quickly stopped grinning, a look of indignation replacing it.

"Malfoy?" She demanded incrediously, head swinging between Cygnus and Druella. "_Malfoy_! Of all the good men in our society, you choose for me to marry the stupid Malfoy boy?"

"Bellatrix." Druella warned under her breath but Bellatrix ignored her.

"He's not even my age! He's in Dromeda's year!" Bellatrix continued, outraged. Cygnus was frowning deeply; he could never have predicted his eldest's reaction but _this_ was most certainly not one of the reactions he had prepared for.

"Bellatrix, please calm yourself. He is but four months your junior; he is closer in age to yourself than to your sister. And consider: Lucius Malfoy is a charming young man with a respectable family of true magical descent and is extremely well connected for one so young. You should be quite happy as his wife."

Druella felt herself stiffen as Bellatrix barked out an unladylike, dry laugh.

"Father, let us make no pretense that my happiness has any relevance whatsoever to my marriage. You wish me to marry the Malfoy boy; I can see that. But I am very clearly telling you right now that I will not have it. I will not marry him!"

Druella's eyes narrowed slightly at Bellatrix's words, and her face hardened into a stone mask. She had always known that the girl was stubborn and headstrong, features strengthened by her resolute self-confidence. But never had she heard any of her daughters deliberately talk back to their father; indeed, she had been quite certain that she had taught them better manners.

But what were manners and etiquette to Bellatrix, Druella thought bitterly, than boundaries waiting to be tested and pushed?

Cygnus looked extremely cross as he, too, began to realize that his oldest daughter was not going to bend so easily under his hand.

"And what say you if I demand that you marry Abraxas Malfoy's son? If I were to insist that you marry him, what would you do then?"

"I'd sooner marry a Muggle." Bellatrix sneered. The air in the room turned icy cold, as Cygnus stared at the black-haired girl with stone cold eyes, face reddening with barely contained outrage. Druella looked as if she had been slapped; she sat, rigid, staring at Bellatrix with a stricken expression. Andromeda and Narcissa watched; the latter looked uneasy as she took her in her father's angry expression, but the former looked eager, anticipating the row that would no doubt ensue.

"What did you just say?" Cygnus's voice was dangerously soft. His tone and expression were enough to make even respected wizards flinch. But not Bellatrix; the eldest Miss Black gazed back at him, with all the defiance and cool confidence in the world.

"I said," Bellatrix spoke; chin raised haughtily, voice ringing clearly through the silent house. "I would sooner be wed to a filthy Muggle than to the stupid Malfoy boy." Cygnus's nostrils flared.

"For shame, girl! Never again do I want to hear such foolish ideas again! Never! Do you hear me? If I get word that one of my daughters affiliate with common Muggles," Cygnus looked murderous, allowing the threat to remain open to the imagination of his children.

"Don't have me married to the Malfoy boy then." Bellatrix retorted, eyes glaring. "You say the continued relationship between a Black and a Muggle is a disgust and a disgrace; take measures to ensure that it will not occur: never mention matrimony between myself and that prat, the Malfoy boy, ever again."

"Unruly, impertinent girl!" roared Cygnus, slamming his fist against the table, causing it to quiver and the utensils to rattle. "You are in no position to make such decisions! You got some nerve!"

"I am perfectly capable of deciding my future, and as far as I'm concerned it is my opinion and no one else's that matters the most in this particular matter! I say that I will not marry the stupid Malfoy boy and therefore I will not."

Cygnus pushed himself to his feet, towering over Bellatrix, bearded face livid.

"For as long as the blood of the Black family runs through your veins, you will do as you are told!"

Bellatrix, too, rose to her feet, meeting her father's vicious glare without fear.

"I will not!"

"Ungrateful wench! I should throw you out into the streets for such talk! Foolish, impertinent hussy! You'll find yourself crumpled in the gutters of Knockturn Alley, begging for your pitiful life!"

"It does not matter to what streets or palace you abandon me, Father, I will always be your daughter and my actions will always be marked into the history of Black. If you want a hussy as a daughter, I assure you that can easily be arranged, and it can be done so without any bondage to the Malfoy boy!"

"Control your talk, girl! What is this, Druella?" Cygnus roared at his wife "Do you hear this talk? Do you hear what it is that your daughter is saying? The nerve of her! I don't know who has planted such filth into her mind but Merlin help me, I'll throw her out of this house if such nonsense does not end; I swear it!"

But Druella could not think. She could not believe that she was hearing this. She had not put any fight at all when her parents had arranged her marriage with Cygnus. She had seen it as her duty to her family. She could not comprehend why Bellatrix was being so stubborn.

"For shame, Bellatrix; I never thought I would hear such talk from you. I thought I had taught you better." She turned to Cygnus. "It appears that my rulings were too lenient for our eldest. Perhaps you will have far more desirable effects. Andromeda, Narcissa," Her voice was just as soft and collected but commanded their attention. "Come. Leave your sister." She rose from her seat and marched her younger daughters from the room. She did not need these two yet impressionable hearts to be misguided by their eldest sister's haughty and uncensored tongue.

Cygnus waited until Druella had closed the door of the dining room. But even through the heavy wooden door, Druella could still hear the shouting as her husband and daughter continued their row and the unmistakably sound as fine china and glass shattered on the floor.

* * *

****edited****


	12. September 1971: Deviant Gold

"Gryffindor!"

At the Sorting Hat's loud cry, the Gryffindors erupted into cheers and applause. Bellatrix watched, dumbfounded, as the just-sorted first year removed the Hat from his head and handed it to Professor McGonagall. The boy had a confident air, dark eyes, and slightly wrinkled robes (though this was not so much due to the neglect of his mother as to the fact that he purposely lounged in such a way as to wrinkle all his clothes in a rebellious attempt to irritate her). His dark brown hair was just long enough that it gave him an almost scruffy appearance (again, in childish attempts to rebel against his mother). No one would have guessed this boy's superior upbringing at first glance, and Bellatrix took note of this as Sirius Black made his way to the red and gold table, nearly skipping with glee.

Bellatrix frowned, twisting around so that she could see her cousin more clearly; she did not remember something like this ever happening before in her family. Her mother and father had always said that Blacks had been in Slytherin. Merlin knew how much Aunt Walburga praised this fact. Even distant relatives by marriage (those who had attended Hogwarts, that is) had been sorted into Slytherin. It was almost like tradition, almost like a requirement: if you were a part of the Black family, you were in Slytherin.

Trust Sirius Black to be the one to break that pattern.

Sirius scooted down the bench to make room for the red-headed girl (Bellatrix had missed her name) who had just been sorted into Gryffindor. The girl sat beside Sirius but then pointedly turned her back to him. Sirius, however, looked far from offended. He shrugged, then turned around, searching for a familiar face amidst the green and silver of Slytherin.

Sirius's dark eyes found Bellatrix's from across the Hall. He grinned devilishly. Then, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention to him, he put his hands to the corners of his mouth, pulled the corners out, crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue, wagging it around in the air.

_Frog face_.

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes at her cousin disgustedly. Really, the childishness of him! She turned firmly around. Well, good riddance to him, she thought. Better for her, in case, because now she would not be responsible for the unruly boy. Not in her House, not her problem.

And she was just fine with that.

OoO oOo OoO

Andromeda felt her eyebrows rise up her forehead in shocked surprise. A _Black_ in _Gryffindor_? She didn't even think that was even remotely possible. For years, those of the Black family who had attended Hogwarts were sorted into Slytherin. That was what they were told, since childhood. That's what was expected of them.

So how was it that the heir of the whole of the Black inheritance had landed himself in Gryffindor? And how would Aunt Walburga, who would openly boast of her connection to such a pure and noble family, react when she got word that her first-born, her rebellious and troublesome son, happened to be the one who went against the unstated expectations of the family of Black?

Andromeda sighed softly. Was it really so surprising that Sirius would have been sorted into Gryffindor? Sirius, who seemed to take it upon himself with great seriousness to be chief mischief-maker? If she were to be truthful to herself, the answer was no: it did not surprise her one bit.

She smirked as she watched him give someone (it had to have been Bella, for he saved this particular face especially for her) a frog face. Then his eyes connected with hers. He grinned.

_I'm in Gryffindor_! He mouthed. His grin was genuine – she could tell. It lit up his face like only pestering Cissy could do. It was infectious as well. Andromeda felt a grin pulling at her lips.

_I know_! She mouthed back, smiling at him from across the Hall. He gave her two thumbs up, which she returned before returning her attention to the sorting of the last five students.

It was not customary, but perhaps this arrangement would not end as badly as she would have thought.

OoO oOo OoO

Narcissa grinned gleefully from where she sat at the Slytherin table. Ooh, just wait until Aunt Walburga heard the news! Sirius was going to get it big. She hoped that her aunt would send a Howler – that way she could hear every word that Aunt Walburga used to reprimand her son for messing up. And boy, did he mess up!

No Black ever went anywhere except for Slytherin. Everyone knew that. Sirius knew that for sure. Yet there he was, sitting at the Gryffindor table, chatting animatedly with an obnoxious-looking black-haired boy. Oh, Narcissa could not wait for the following morning! How upset Aunt Walburga would be, and Sirius would have to suffer for being the cause of her humiliation.

But even better than that (and with this thought, the blonde-haired Black positively beamed) was that Sirius had conveniently landed himself in Gryffindor. _Everyone_ knew that Slytherins and Gryffindors did not get along particularly well. Any inter-House competitions were heightened triple-fold because of the feud between the Gryffindor House and the Slytherin House. This meant that Narcissa now had a legitimate excuse to beat Sirius and begin scheming to get him into trouble for everything. There was but one difference between the pranks of the Gryffindors and the Slytherins: Slytherins, like Narcissa, hardly ever got caught.

This was going to be a gratifying year, she could feel it!

* * *

****edited****


	13. October 1971: Perfectly Accidental

The summer break did nothing to ease his crush on her. If anything, the summer gave him time away from his friends, studies, and the girl in question so that he could mature psychologically and physically. Not only was it obvious that Ted Tonks had grown several inches over the summer, he also gained a lot more confidence. This became inescapably clear when he sought her out that afternoon, two weeks before the upcoming Hogsmeade trip.

Dromeda strolled through the corridors, slowly making her way towards the library so that she could begin her Ancient Runes paper. She had been sitting in a corner of the common room moping until she finally had had enough and decided that if she was going to feel sorry for herself, she was going to do so while getting some homework done.

Her day had turned quite cloudy when her sister had informed her that she and her friends would be using the Hogsmeade trip to celebrate their final year at Hogwarts. She had not meant to be cruel, but the fact that Bella asked her to find something else to do that Hogsmeade trip hurt all the same. Dromeda became especially gloomy when she had realized that most of her friends were in their seventh year, and would be at the celebration that she was not allowed to attend, and that she did not particularly get along with anyone in her year; five whole years of hanging out with the older students had distanced her from her classmates.

She didn't blame Bella, but it didn't stop her from wishing that her older sister had allowed her to go. Then her day would not be so dismal.

She was turning the corner when she nearly collided with another student who had come sprinting around the bend. He tried dodging her, with the effect that he narrowly missed slamming right into her, but tripped on a loose shoelace and went tumbling to the ground, parchment flying from his folder and decorating the air like confetti. Dromeda's heart sank as she recognized the wrinkled black robes, the untied shoes, the messy hair that was the color of sand paper, and the yellow and black that striped his scarf.

As if her day needed to get any worse.

"Sorry, Black." He gave a sheepish smile. "Didn't see you there."

Andromeda stared at him in disbelief.

"Didn't see me? Of course you didn't see me, Tonks, you were running straight at me and looking in the complete opposite direction! What, were you being chased by the Grim or something? You could have knocked me over!" She glared down at him.

"Sorry." He repeated. "I didn't mean to, honest." He began to collect his scattered papers, crawling on his knees. But he kept getting tangled in his robes, and when he dropped his folder and still more parchment came flying out, Dromeda sighed impatiently.

"Oh, for goodness sake, Tonks! Give me that!" She snapped, snatching the folder from the floor.

Dromeda opened the flap of the folder so that it rested across her left arm. Then she pulled her wand from within her robes and pointed it at the parchments that lay across the floor.

"Pack!" She ordered them. And sure enough, all the parchment came whizzing back into the folder, uncrinkling themselves as to lie neatly inside the folder. When the last sheet had tucked itself neatly into the pocket, she closed the folder shut and glanced down at Tonks, who had not gotten off the floor in the time she had organized his papers.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Oh! Yeah, sorry," and he pushed himself to his feet, nearly tripping over his shoelace again. Dromeda rolled her eyes before pointing her wand at his feet.

"Tie." She commanded, and immediately his shoelaces tied themselves into two neat and even bows. Tonks stared down at his feet, then looked up to grin at her.

"Thanks!"

"Don't mention it," she responded dryly, pressing the folder into his hands. He took it.

"But you know, I wasn't running from the Grim. I was running because Sirius told me that you were going to be in the library and I wanted to catch you in time." She blinked up at him, sure she was not hearing him correctly.

"Who told you?"

"Sirius." He answered, looking puzzled. "Er, Sirius Black? Your cousin? You know, mischievous little first-year who-"

"Yes, I know who Sirius is!" She snapped. Why would Sirius tell someone where she was going to be? She had met him and his little friends prowling the halls and had not minded telling him where she was headed when he asked. But did he truly think he could just give that information to anyone who asked? She made a mental note to have a serious talk with her little cousin about giving her whereabouts to other students.

"Yeah, well, good. Anyways, I was hoping to catch you because I wanted to know if you had any plans the following weekend."

A quick calculation and Dromeda knew exactly what weekend he was talking about.

"You mean the Hogsmeade trip weekend?"

"Yep." He smiled. "That's the one. So, got any plans?"

Dromeda sighed. Was it really going to come to this? Bella was going to be out partying, as were the rest of her friends, and she really had no intention of hanging out with the Slytherin girls in her year. Ismena from Ravenclaw was a really fun girl, but she had plans to meet her boyfriend, which meant that she wasn't very well going to accompany Dromeda. And there was no way that she was going to stay in the castle when these trips came only about once a month!

"No," she replied slowly. "I have not got any plans."

"Really?" He looked surprised, as if he had not expected her to say so even if she hadn't any plans. "Do you want to go with me, then?"

Dromeda stared at the boy. His face shone with hope. He had been trying for so long to win her attention, approval, and affection, and now he was finally given this heart-wrenching chance; Dromeda was almost surprised that he didn't have a psychotic melt down right there.

Would she go with him? She had nothing else to do. And it might even be fun, she told herself meekly, trying to be optimistic. As long as he understood that this changed _nothing_ between them…

"Yes," she replied reluctantly. "Yes, I'll go with you." She didn't think a boy could beam so brightly.

"Great!" He exclaimed enthusiastically. "So, I'll meet you down at the Great Hall at 8. Do you wanna meet up with some of my friends while we're there? I didn't say I was going with them but we usually hang around together."

Dromeda thought of the Hufflepuffs and one Gryffindor boy that Tonks hung out with. It would be bad enough to be seen hanging out with him; to be seen with a whole _group_ of Muggle-borns? She suppressed a shudder.

"No." She answered, just a bit too forcefully to be polite. She glanced up at him to see if he had been hurt by her tone but, on the contrary, his grin just widened.

"I was hoping you would say that."

Her heart dropped as she realized where his head was taking him. Yes, she would be going with him, and it would be just them two, but it wasn't going to be like _that_.

"Now, Tonks, don't you get any ideas." She warned him, but he was already backing away from her, a stupid grin on his face.

"See you at 8, Black." He lifted a hand before trotting away.

"No, wait. Tonks. Tonks!" But he only laughed, raised and hand and waved at her. Then her turned the corner and was gone.

Dromeda stood rooted to the spot staring the corner which Tonks had disappeared around, heart drumming, hoping beyond dreams that Tonks would not advertise that he had a date with Cygnus Black's daughter.

* * *

****edited****


	14. December 1971: Mutual Objection

Mrs. Malfoy and Mrs. Black's first attempt to bring their children closer together in hopes of creating a bond that would result in matrimony was also the last attempt. It was no secret that Mrs. Malfoy expected the future daughter-in-law to carry sons, so that the Malfoy name did not disappear. What was a secret was Mrs. Black's silent desire for her eldest to find a match as quickly as possible; childbirth would most certainly settle her eldest's wild and independent nature. Both women, however, were in agreement that the more time Mister Malfoy spent with the eldest Miss Black, the more tolerance they would be able to build towards one another that would allow each of them to, at the very least, not be miserable with each other for the rest of their lives. And so, the two women decided to set up a day in which the young Mister Malfoy and Mrs. Malfoy would join Mrs. Black and her daughter for tea. The women's husbands did little to prepare for such arrangements, but looked upon it with favorable feelings.

It was for this reason that the large wicker table with four matching wicker chairs was set in the back patio around three that afternoon. A beautiful white mantle was set over the table and Mrs. Black's finest trays and china were placed on the table. The servants had been ordered to make a simple, light tea and miniature buttermilk scones. The jam and cream were freshly made, and the sugar had been packed into tiny little figurines. The sky was a beautiful shade of blue with barely a cloud in the sky; it was a very picturesque setting that revealed nothing of the disaster that would ensue.

The Malfoys arrived exactly as the grand old clock chimed three. Mother and son were greeted at the door by Mrs. Black, who escorted them to the back patio, where Bellatrix already sat, looking quiet and fair in a white robe of ribbon and lace. She inclined her head to the visitors, but made no effort to stand, even with her mother's stern gaze upon her. A strong jab from Mrs. Malfoy had the young Lucius flinching and reluctantly reaching for Bellatrix's hand. His face was smooth as marble, his eyes murderous, and when he murmured the greeting he had been forced to recite his tone was one of deepest loathing. When his lips brushed her pale skin, her face hardened with barely hidden disgust, as if her hand were being devoured by a foul creature rather than receiving a cordial greeting from a gentleman.

Mrs. Malfoy and Mrs. Black exchanged light words with little meaning, attempting to drag in their children and spark conversation between them. Bellatrix and Lucius, however, continued the frosty relationship they had shared throughout their childhood. It became apparent that no amount of courtship was going to warm the two children to each other.

In a final attempt to force the stubborn children to at least acknowledge each other, Mrs. Malfoy and Mrs. Black rose from their seats and went inside, locking Lucius and Bellatrix outside together. Perhaps they thought that the absence of adult figures would compel them to start up conversation that would gradually reveal similarities that would develop into interest. Or perhaps they hoped that sitting alone beneath the beautiful sky would spark some hidden feelings of romance between the two.

Whatever the two women had thought, they were wrong, and in no more than two minutes, they were frantically unbolting the glass door and rushing out to the backyard, where Lucius and Bellatrix had pulled out their wands and were openly dueling each other. Their faces shared the same ferociousness, their words the same loathing and bitter tones. Curses and hexes flew from their wands. Their mothers put an end to the duel just before Bellatrix was able to lunge herself at Lucius.

It was said that both women were furious at each other and at their children for such a shameful display. But what was known for certain was that neither woman, to the relief of both young Mister Malfoy and Miss Black, ever mentioned matrimony between the two again.

* * *

****edited****


	15. January 1972: Don't Play Favourites

Minerva McGonagall rapped her knuckles against the large oak doors. Upon hearing a calm male voice invite her inside, she turned the brass knob and walked into the office of the Headmaster.

Headmaster Dumbledore was seated at his desk, the end of his white beard hidden behind it so that it appeared endless. He peered at her with dazzling blue eyes from behind semi-circle spectacles, elbows propped up on the desktop, fingertips touching fingertips. He gave her a warm but strained smile. Waiting patiently in the office were three other teachers that McGonagall recognized immediately: Filius Flitwick, Head of Ravenclaw and professor of Charms, with his beard and hair just as white as Dumbledore's, so short that, seated in the chair, his feet stuck out; Pomona Sprout, a kind-face woman about McGonagall's age, who had replaced Professor Kettleburn as both Head of Hufflepuff and professor of Herbology; and Horace Slughorn, with graying hair and a protruding belly, who genuinely enjoyed his position as professor of Potions and Head of Slytherin. All three wore grave expressions.

"Ah, Professor McGonagall, you've made it. We were beginning to think you had forgotten about our scheduled meeting." His blue eyes twinkled and, though she knew he was amused and not angry, she flushed.

"I'm sorry Dumbledore, but I had not forgotten. I was deviated by a small matter involving two pupils from my House."

"Who was it?" Filius squeaked from his chair, straining to see her around Pomona. Minerva pursed her lips.

"Black and Potter." She replied with displeasure.

"What have they done this time?" Pomona asked with a deep sigh.

"They decided that it would be jolly fun to lock Sirius's cousin, Miss Narcissa Black," she inclined her head with an apologetic expression at Slughorn "in the lavatory on the second floor. When I arrived, she was attempting to escape through a window and Myrtle was terrorizing her and shrieking like a banshee. Miss Black was drenched and quite shaken up and Myrtle was in hysterics; Potter and Black, of course, were nearly dying from laughter." McGonagall frowned, remembering how the red rubies from the Gryffindor hour glass sprang up, lowering the amount of Gryffindor rubies below all the other Houses, after she took away fifty points for each of them – and they had just returned from Christmas Break not two weeks ago!

"What did you do with Black and Potter?" Pomona asked.

"I handed them off to Filch." She replied darkly. "One hundred points from Gryffindor, and detention twice a week for three weeks. School has barely resumed and already their schedules are being backed up with detentions! As it was, I couldn't schedule detention for Thursdays or Mondays because they already had detentions on those days." She huffed with returned irritation and impatience.

"I'm afraid that was my fault, Minerva." Horace explained. "They blew up, not only their own cauldrons, but those of Mary McDonald and Jill Hill. Had to send both girls to the hospital wing. Please don't take offense at what I am going to say next, Minerva. I very much would have liked to have all the Blacks in my House, including young Sirius Black. But then I see how strained you are trying to discipline his behavior, and I must say, I do not envy you at all. Sometimes I am almost glad he _was_ placed in Gryffindor." He shook his head. "They are more troublesome in one week than a month's worth of feud between Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Black."

"That's because Bellatrix doesn't get caught." Minerva snapped. "That girl's got the intelligence to get passed all her classes and scheme against other students, and the wit to get it done without leaving behind a trail of evidence." Horace shifted uncomfortably, as he always did when discussing Bellatrix Black. McGonagall didn't know why he was constantly uneasy when discussing Bellatrix Black, but if he was so eager to have the family of Black in his House, then she would have gladly exchanged the young Sirius Black for the eldest daughter of Cygnus and Druella Black.

"The students always go through a period of bad behavior. It's part of growing up and maturing." Flitwick piped up. "Black and Potter, though perhaps more talented at it than most, will grow out of it eventually. But I doubt that Professor Dumbledore called us in to chat about the students." He glanced at the Headmaster, who was smiling at hearing the troubling attitudes of the children.

"No, I did not call you to discuss the rivalries of the students. Though I must say, I genuinely enjoy listening to these anecdotes, however tiresome they may be. I truly do think that there is nothing better than being a teacher. Sometimes I ponder whether I should resign as Headmaster and go back to teaching in the classroom." He gave a misty smile as he gazed off, immersed in memories of days when he taught as a professor; the teachers exchanged glances.

"But that will have to wait." Dumbledore announced, snapping out of his daze. "Time grows short and there are matters of great importance that we must discuss. Please sit down." He waved his wand in the air, drawing up two chairs for Slughorn and McGonagall, who settled down comfortably and wondered what disturbing news had the Headmaster unsettled.

"As you all must know, Lord Voldemort is quickly gaining power." McGonagall felt a shiver creep up her spine at the name, and saw that she was not the only one who appeared unsettled by the mention of his name. "Word of his ideas and values has reached many wizards and witches. Several were inclined to his ideas from the start, namely high society families with a long lineage of wizards and witches. The increasing disappearances have convinced many others that denying him is fruitless. Others still are drawn in by greed, for he is extremely influential," here Slughorn gave an uncomfortable cough, but Dumbledore ignored him, "and has given many supporters higher positions in the workforce. There is evidence that several of the quickly-promoted individuals in the Ministry are strong supporters of his cause for this reason. Whatever the case, it has come to my notice that Lord Voldemort is gaining supporters, and not just witches and wizards."

"Not just witches and wizards?" Pomona asked, puzzled.

"There is evidence that has recently been brought to my awareness that Voldemort is attempting to ally himself with the giants. And he is gifted enough in the Dark Arts to raise himself a large amount of Inferi."

Pomona gasped.

"Knowing his recent activity," Dumbledore continued gravely. "It comes as no surprise that several bodies have been discovered – dead. Some are too mangled and destroyed to be identified. But some have been identified to be wizards or witches who have gone missing. There has been an increase in mortality in the Muggle world. Curious tragedies, with almost all having no cause of death that the Muggle police can conclude. But several in the Law Enforcement Department at the Ministry, and myself, know that these mysterious deaths are the result of wizard curses. Wizards are murdering Muggles in their homes, unprovoked, for the sheer dislike of them.

"It won't be long until this recent activity turns against the magical children of Muggle parents, and children with Muggle grandparents. Therefore, it will be your jobs, as Head of House, to increase security and enforce the prohibition of magic in the hallways. I want you to enforce a curfew; at ten o'clock, students are to be in their common rooms, and I want each student accounted for nightly. No one is to leave Hogwarts without a chaperone. I will not cancel weekend trips to Hogsmeade, but I will be adding extra security and supervision now that Lord Voldemort is becoming stronger. And I want it to be clearly known to every student in this school," here he leaned forward, and his eyes flashed a dangerous electric blue. "That I do not care what their background is, and I do not care under what morale and values they have been brought up under. I will _not_ tolerate the harassment or discrimination of a classmate because of blood, upbringing, or House. Even the slightest violation of this rule will result in detention with the Headmaster. The safety and well-being of the students at this school is our first priority."

The Head of Houses murmured their understanding, shocked at the news and quieted by the seriousness of the meeting. Dumbledore leaned back in his chair.

"Very well, I know that you want to get on with your day. You are free to go, and enjoy your afternoon." He gave them a strained smile. All four teachers got to their feet, shuffling out of the office. Only McGonagall remained behind, waiting for the others Heads of House to leave. Dumbledore gazed at her, blue eyes piercing, though did not address her until the oak doors had been shut.

"Professor?"

McGonagall hesitated, wondering whether or not she should bring up the matter. But she shook away her doubt and firmly decided to ask, knowing that if she prolonged it any further she would feel irritated with herself all week.

"Professor Dumbledore, now that murders are occurring, is the Order going to meet more frequently?"

"Yes, Professor, I dare say they will. And I was hoping to expand it with witches and wizards we can trust." He peered at her knowingly, and she wondered if he had been thinking along the same lines. "Who exactly do you have in mind?"

"Bellatrix Black." The name slipped from her lips, and her heart thrummed hopefully. "Dumbledore, I know she has only just come of age and that you wouldn't like inducting students into such a dangerous organization – I don't like it myself – but she would be just wonderful and-" She stopped when the old man raised a palm to silence her.

"Bellatrix Black is, as I understand it, very gifted in magic. But I have gotten such mixed reviews about her. Horace doesn't like her, and, as her Head of House, he knows her best. I can't help but wonder: what is it about Miss Black that you have taken such a liking to?"

McGonagall thought of the confident Slytherin girl with the wild black curls and black eyes that held so much intelligence and fire. How could she explain to Dumbledore in words, taking up only minutes of his time, in what had taken six and a half years to shape such wonder and talent that was Miss Bellatrix Black?

"She's intelligent. Not just smart," she refuted quickly, seeing Dumbledore's look. "But naturally intelligent. There are not that many students who truly grasp Transfiguration, and Bellatrix approaches it with such ease. She masters in one class period what would take the rest of the class a week. That girl has raw natural talent; she's filled with magic and it comes so easily to her. I've seen several of her scores from other classes, she gets nearly perfect marks on just about all assignments. And she was the same that first day she came into my class. She's just brilliant, Dumbledore, in my sixteen years of teaching I have never had a student like her. Samuel Otila is perhaps the only other student who can compare to her marks. He aces just about every assignment, and achieves all the tasks set before him in each class. But he struggles to earn those marks. He stays up and studies, and I can see that he is trying; you can just tell that he has to work really hard to get up to where he is. Bellatrix just floats through it; I don't think that girl has broken out in sweat for any of these spells in her six years here.

"And she enjoys learning! Dumbledore, that girl pays attention to you because she _wants_ to learn, not because she has to. It is such a pleasure teaching her because she has such an open mind to all knowledge. She has incredible control over the magic within her." McGonagall could feel her heart beating in her chest as she tried to decipher Dumbledore's expression. His blue eyes never left her face, and it was beginning to make her feel uncomfortable. Had she been foolish to express these ideas to him? She waited in anticipation for him to speak.

"Her advancement in magic could just be her parents' lenience to enforce the prohibition of underage magic at home. I am quite sure that Cygnus Black encourages his children to practice magic at home. Miss Bellatrix Black's incredible work with magic could just be her increased practice and time with the wand." He told her gently. But McGonagall shook her head.

"If that were the case then her sisters would have been just as gifted. They are not. Oh, Andromeda and Narcissa Black are not stupid children," she reassured him quickly. "But they have none of their sister's talent."

"Teachers are not supposed to have favorites, Professor." He told her with an amused smile.

"I know," McGonagall said sheepishly. "I tried to tell myself that six years ago. But she is so special, with so much natural talent; you can't _learn_ what Bellatrix does, it has to be in you. But it isn't just her ability; she's also got a good personality. She's got a sense of humor, and she's mature and confident. She's relentless in all that she does. I'll admit, she's got sass and an attitude; Merlin knows that girl is stubborn and hard-headed. But, Professor, she's never spoken out of turn to me, even when we have opposing views. I have found that as long as you treat her as an equal, she will hold the highest respect."

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, pondering her words.

"That's quite heavy praise, coming from you – especially seeing that she's in Slytherin. I was under the impression that you didn't get along well with the Slytherin students?"

"I don't particularly respect Slytherin students because I can't understand their cowardice. They string together a web of lies so as to get themselves out of trouble. I have witnessed several blame a classmate, so that another has to pay the consequence rather than themselves." McGonagall answered darkly. "Bellatrix isn't a Slytherin for cowardice, Dumbledore. In that respect, she is as much a Gryffindor as you and I. She has taken the blame, and the detentions, for Andromeda and Narcissa on several occasions. I have taught her for six years; she would give her life for her sisters. No, Bellatrix is a Slytherin because of her unwavering determination and her cunning ability to weasel herself and her close friends out of trouble."

"She has an interest in the Dark Arts." Dumbledore warned seriously. McGonagall clicked her tongue irritably at this news. Whoever had given him this tidbit of information had given it without looking at the big picture.

"That is because she likes to be challenged and, at the present, Dark magic is the only magic that forces her to work hard. Dumbledore, if she were to join the Order, I know she'd be magnificent. She's powerful – not just magically but emotionally too! If we could train her how to use her talent for good, undo any damage her parents have done…Dumbledore, she is exactly what we need! Even if she doesn't formally join the Order, she would be a wonderful ally!"

"Such a powerful witch can easily be a dangerous foe." He commented gravely. McGonagall stared at him, dejected. "And we could never have a secure hold over her loyalties; such raw power and emotions can easily be offset and be used against our cause."

McGonagall felt her hope and excitement shrivel up. Was he really turning Bellatrix Black down? Was this his final answer, without even giving the girl a chance?

"Don't fret, Minerva." He told her gently, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. "I will think about what you have told me, and keep an eye on Miss Bellatrix Black. But don't approach her about this subject just quite yet."

It took a moment for her to register what he meant, but then she nodded, feeling better now that Bellatrix would get the chance that she deserved. She thanked the Headmaster, bid him a good day, and then left the office, closing the majestic oak doors as she exited.

* * *

****edited****


	16. February 1972: A Shot of Confidence

He slid into the seat next to her, occupying the space that Ismena would have normally have taken had she not been ill. Andromeda stopped scribbling but didn't look up.

"Hey Dromeda."

The quiet greeting shocked her. She shifted so that she could look at him. He was smiling warmly at her. She could tell he had showered earlier that morning; his sandy hair was drying but was still damp in sections. And he smelled like soap. He smelled like boy soap and cologne.

He smelled good.

The thought only irritated her more, because not only was he _not_ supposed to be sitting here and smelling so nice, he was also _not_ supposed to call her that.

"What did you call me?" She kept her voice even, hoping that maybe she had heard wrong and that she could quickly send him packing off to his own seat.

"Er, Dromeda." His brow furrowed, but he still had on that smile. "That is your name isn't it?"

Andromeda narrowed her eyes at him. She couldn't believe that this was the same boy who used to turn ruby red whenever he passed by her. When did he get so confident that he thought he could go with her to Hogsmeade _and_ just decide to sit next to her one day in class? The long summer break must have made both his body and his ego grow.

Well, she was just going to have to fix that.

"_That_," she told him coldly, "is a name my sisters and my friends call me, of which you are neither."

"Aw, come on, Dromeda." She pressed her lips together in irritation as he referred to her by her nickname once more, his smile not diminishing. "We could be friends, if you let us. We know each other well enough to be friends."

"You don't know anything about me!" She scoffed, keeping her voice low as not to disrupt the class. "And we are _not_ friends." She then turned back around to begin copying the notes again, hoping he would consider the matter closed.

"Okay, how about buddies?"

Apparently not.

"No." She replied firmly, not bothering to look up or stop her note copying.

"Pals?"

"No!"

He sighed.

"Come on, we are at least acquaintances."

Andromeda closed her eyes and slowly counted to three under her breath. Then she opened her eyes very slowly and turned to look at him. To her greatest frustration, he was still wearing that stupid cocky smile!

"Okay, fine. We are acquaintances. You happy now?"

"Well, almost." And with a devilish grin, he leaned closed to her and planted a kiss on her cheek. Andromeda gasped, stunned for a second, but quickly became angry. She slammed a hand on her desk, but he was already scurrying back to his proper seat.

"TONKS!"

Her fury quickly gave way to embarrassment, as she realized she had been so angry she shouted loud enough to grab Professor Binn's attention. She felt a heat rush up through her cheeks as she felt the eyes of the four other people in the History of Magic class, N.E.W.T level, staring at her with mouths hanging open.

"Is there something the matter, Miss…"

"No, sir," she mumbled hastily, not bothering to provide her name and attract more attention to herself. "Nothing is the matter; forgive me." Professor Binns blinked once, twice, but then continued to teach.

Taking a deep breath to settle herself, Andromeda turned to glare at the boy who had started it all. There he was, sitting with a stupid grin on his face.

"Oops," he whispered. She shook her head, feeling absolutely outraged.

"_Ted Tonks, I'm going to kill you!_" She hissed. But instead of looking unsettled, he just smiled and looked cockier than ever.

She firmly turned her back on him, breathing heavily, heart beating just a little too fast as she wondered when and how did Ted Tonks receive this new-found courage.

* * *

****edited****


	17. April 1972: Se Belle Façon

Mother wasn't going to let her go at first. Father's fury didn't last too long after that particular episode, and he let it go after a couple of days. But Mother remembered; Mother remembered her mortification at her unbecoming display of uncivil behavior. She therefore vowed to not reward her by letting her go, and Father voiced no objections.

But Bella, as always, got her way. From the moment the train rolled up to Platform 9 3/4, she released her anger and upscaled all her dramatics. No one escaped Bella's frustration and outrage. She snapped at the maids, kicked the house elves, glared at those unfortunate to be greet by her at the door, slammed doors, stomped throughout the house, and never once missed an opportunity to yell at Mother. By the end of that afternoon, everyone had gotten an earful of how unjust Mother was being. Father escaped Bella's fury by hiding out in his library. But even in his refuge of books he could not ignore the heavy footfalls, the rattling of glassware, or the raging battle between his wife and eldest daughter. For two days, Bella wreaked havoc within the mansion, and not even I was able to escape.

Tired of the battle, Mother reluctantly lowered her pride and agreed to let Bella go. It was in that manner that Bella was allowed to go to France over that Easter break as promised. What normally would have taken Bella two days prior to pack, she was ready in two hours. Father accompanied her to the ship, and when the door closed behind her, the whole mansion breathed a sigh of relief, glad to be rid of her.

I think she did it to spite Mother, and even in the years to come I would never know how she was able to nab him so quickly. She was in France for all of five days. Yet when we all went out to the bay to pick her up at 11:30 a.m. on Saturday, she came strutting towards us with that victorious, haughty manner. Matching her steps perfectly, perhaps half a step behind, was a young man carrying her suitcase in one hand.

He was older than any of us - 23 years old - and he was handsome enough. He came from a well-known wizarding family in France, with a fair fortune waiting as his inheritance. His name was Rodolphus Lestrange, and he had accompanied Bella in her trip back home with every intention of marrying her as soon as possible.

Trust Bella to get back into Mother's good books and snub Mrs. Malfoy all in one trip.

* * *

****edited****


	18. April 1972: Innocently Scheming

Dromeda sat cross-legged at the end of the bed, leaning against one of the posts. The green curtains of the four-poster had been pulled open so that Bella could straddle the bed and fit the disarray of text books, library books, and hand-written notes in front of her. With N.E.W.T.'s and O.W.L.'s only a couple of weeks away, most fifth and seventh years were shutting themselves in the library during free time; this was why Bella refused to go there. Instead, Bella chose to study in her dormitory, where the chance of an annoying younger student was greatly reduced, and she could cram last minute information in the comfort of her dormitory.

Not that she needed to. Bella would pass her N.E.W.T.'s with the same scores with which she had passed her O.W.L.'s: perfect.

Dromeda watched her older sister. Her right forefinger followed her eyes as they scanned the writing in one of her books. It was nice to be a sixth year, Dromeda thought. You got all the benefit of being an upper classman, and none of the extra cramming for higher level exams. All she had to do was pass her finals, which was easy enough. This left her time to figure out other things.

Like that little problem she had sought Bella for in the first place.

"Ted Tonks asked me to be his girlfriend." Dromeda blurted, trying to keep her tone nonchalant. Bella looked up, confused as her brain struggled to rise above the endless formulas of arithmacy.

"What? Oh! We're talking boys! Hold on." She snapped all the books shut, reaching down to stack them all on top of one another on the floor near the bed. When she had placed the last loose bit of parchment with scribbled Charms notes at the very top of her tower, she scooted herself forward and tossed her black curls behind her back.

"So. Give me the details."

Dromeda hesitated for a heartbeat. But if she was ever going to solve this, now was the time. Besides, Bella was her sister; if there was anyone who could help her out, it was Bella.

"Ted Tonks asked me out yesterday." She repeated.

Bella rolled her eyes in irritation.

"Again? Doesn't this boy get the hint? He's been trying since, what, second year?"

"Bella, the first time he even spoke to me was in fourth year; he's only crushed on me since second year."

"Whatever, same difference." Bella waved the correction away with her hand. "The thing is, he's becoming more and more persistent, instead of disappearing. I wonder if this counts as harassment. Maybe if we approach it from that angle we can get him kicked out and-"

"I told him yes."

Silence.

"You're joking." Bella laughed nervously.

Dromeda bit her lip, yet said nothing. She was beginning to regret saying anything; if Bella was acting this way, she didn't want to know how everyone else would react.

"Oh, dear Merlin, you're not! Dromeda, look, I know being single isn't the most exciting and happiest way to be, but you can do better than that Tonks kids. I can hook you up with one of Esperanza's cousins if you're really desperate to be in a relationship."

"I am not desperate!" Dromeda snapped at once, offended. "He's just been asking me out for so long, and it's the end of the year. I just figured I'd humor him. Besides, he's really nice, which is more than I can say about Rodolphus!" She glared at her older sister.

"Rodolphus is not Muggle-born." Bella pointed out. Dromeda ran a hand through her hair. They had finally arrived at that detail.

"I know, and I worried about that little problem, too. But, Bella, I'm not getting married to him! We'll just be going out on dates for a couple of weeks. By summer it will be done anyways, and maybe, who knows, he will finally see that we are just too different to work out. He'll move on, and by next year that will be one less thing I have to worry about."

There was no frown on Bella's face, no bitterness or disgust that would show that she disapproved of sister's words. Confidence growing, Dromeda leaned forward and took Bella's hands in her own.

"Come on, Bella. It's like doing something dangerous and fun. You can't deny that it's against the rules. Surely you must approve of _that_."

The corners of Bella's lips curled upward.

"I don't go around announcing to everyone that I went against the rules. That little technique tends to help me _not get caught_." Bellatrix sighed. "Honey, he's still a Muggle-born."

"I know, which makes him totally forbidden and against the rules." Dromeda grinned. "Which means you should be agreeing with me and helping me instead of telling me to stay on the sidewalk."

"Mother won't like it when she hears of it." Bella warned. But there was that spark in her black eyes, that mischievous gleam; Dromeda already had her.

"No, she won't. But Mother needn't find out. You could persuade the other students not to mention anything."

"I could." Bella agreed. "But why would I want to?"

"Because you are my sister and you love me…and in fifty years you are going to want to be sitting next to me laughing about it, not wondering what could have happened."

"Ok, ok! As long as this is for personal entertainment and enjoyment only!"

"It is!"

Deep ebony met dark chocolate.

"Alright, go have fun; I need to finish studying." Bella said, pushing Dromeda with her foot.

"Mother…?"

"Will never know."  
Dromeda grinned and flung her arms around her sister.

"Thanks, Bella!" Then she planted a kiss on her cheek.

"Agh! Alright, get out of here! I need to go over arithmacy and charms!"

Laughing, Dromeda bounded off the bed, relieved now that she had Bella's support. With Bella on her side, she could do anything.

* * *

****edited****


	19. July 1972: Dance with the Bride

The preparations for the wedding began the morning after we got back from Hogwarts for summer break. The Lestranges had arrived three days prior and were staying at a cottage not far from our mansion. Mrs. Lestrange and Rodolphus came over almost everyday to have their share in all the necessary steps to plan a wedding. From the start of the wedding preparations, Bella's marriage was destined to be one based on compromises:

Bella wanted a summer wedding before we, Dromeda and I, left for Hogwarts again in the fall; Rodolphus voiced his want for a winter wedding to allow more time for his family to make arrangements for the travel. The wedding was therefore scheduled for the sixth of July.

Rodolphus wanted a morning wedding, after which the guests would enjoy a lovely lunch outside; Bella wanted a wedding set in the evening with a formal dinner. So the wedding was set for 7:00 p.m.

Bella wanted a large reception party with lively music and all sorts of effects; Rodolphus preferred to simplify the party and have it all over by midnight. Naturally, the wedding party was estimated to end at three in the morning.

Rodolphus suggested renting a hall to host the reception party; Bella was eager to dress the mansion in wedding décor and host the party right here at home. Two days after this conversation, enlargement spells and charms were cast in the ballroom so that it could hold all of the guests comfortably.

Bella argued for a brilliant red to be her base color; Rodolphus objected to such a bold color for such a formal event. The cake, the chairs, the scattered rose petals, and most of the other décor were therefore made red.

Rodolphus wanted his bride to walk down the aisle in a traditional white dress robe. Bella fantasized about strutting down the aisle in a flattering red gown. The dress was tailored in a white satin (Mother, Mrs. Lestrange, and Aunt Walburga were able to make Bella settle for a white gown with red restrained to just accenting colors).

This is what took place for all of June. In that month, no one paid attention to us. Bella was the sole focus point. Everyday it seemed as if the number of women in the mansion was growing and, with the wedding drawing near, tension was high. Even Mother, who was normally so calm and cool, was pacing back and forth across the house anxiously. Aunt Walburga's presence increased the tension triple fold. Not only did she always manage to tick off the bride-to-be, she would bring Sirius and Regulus over. They were _always_ getting into trouble, and when I finally shot flames at them after putting a large flower pot on my head, I got in trouble, too. I was glad when Dromeda finally took me with her on her trips out of the house.

But the wedding came out beautifully in the end. Dromeda and I were two of Bella's four bridesmaids, dressed in A-line dress robes made of the finest red satin. Bella looked stunning, as she always did, with her black curls swept up on top of her head. She and Rodolphus exchanged vows and then slipped rings onto each others' fingers. Mother let out a tiny sigh of relief as Bella walked by, hand-in-hand with Rodolphus, the gold metal gleaming harshly in the light; Dromeda said that it was because Mother was afraid Bella's fiery nature would leave her walking out without a husband.

I danced with Dromeda for most of the party. I thought Bella would come dance with us, too; however, she spent most of her time hopping from one relative to the next. I never knew we had so many! And when I thought she was done and could finally come join us, she had to dance with all of Rodolphus's family.

Everyone wanted to dance with the bride.

I remembered what Dromeda had said about Bella leaving. I remembered how she had said that, now that Bella was married, things would be different between us. It was odd hearing her being called Bellatrix Lestrange. I was afraid that we had lost her. I was afraid that Bella wasn't part of our family anymore. Did changing her name from Black to Lestrange change who she was? Did marriage make her a part of a different family? Would she still want us around, as friends, as sisters?

Did she care?

Then the grand clock struck midnight, and our song came on. _Our_ song – the one we would blast, singing into brushes, dancing around together in our underwear. Bella appeared then, and it was just us – just us three sisters. We swayed to the beat and clapped our hands, threw our heads back and sang along. Just like we used to. We were the center of the dance floor; we were the center of the world. It wasn't just our song; it was our moment. I knew then that Bella wasn't lost, and she wasn't this Bellatrix Lestrange that everyone insisted on calling her. She was our Bella – she would always be _our_ Bella.

We were the three Black sisters; the three sisters of Black. As we hooked hands and danced the night away, I knew – we all knew – that no matter what happened we would always be sisters.

* * *

****edited****


	20. September 1972: Just the Best Friend

I watched as he descended the steps into the Great Hall for breakfast. He looked as adorable as ever: sandy hair rumpled from sleep, white shirt tucked into his pants in the front but not the back, tie hanging limp around his neck, black robes wrinkled, wand poking out from his back pocket, and his face, as always, smiling lazily, carefree. This morning was different, though; this morning he came down with his usual lazy smile widened into a dopey grin; a grin that was not meant for me – a grin, I realized with a pang, that was never meant for me.

My heart ached as I took in the demeanor of the girl floating down the steps beside him. That was the girl he wanted, had always wanted. What chance did I ever stand against this girl? She was beautiful in reality; in the shine of his eyes, she must be flawless, divine perfection. Even in the early morning, her deep brown curls cascaded down her back in perfect ripples, the white school blouse hugging her thin frame, the black school robes crisply pressed. There was a confidence in her step that reflected her superior breeding and upbringing. Me? I was just the best friend.

I watched as he tripped on the last step; he was always doing that, and it always made me smile. The girl beside him took my place as she caught him by the arm, steadying him. My chest throbbed painfully as I saw him give her an apologetic smile. She returned it with a roll of her eyes. He showed no signs of being phased by her reaction, however; if anything, his grin widened as he took her by the hand.

My chest tightened and my stomach knotted as I watched him link his large hand with her dainty, manicure one and lead her to the table where I now sat. He stopped by my shoulder, and called out a cheery "good morning!" just as he always did. And he introduced the girl to us all: "my girlfriend". My mouth was so dry, my mind so numb, I don't know how I managed out a response. But I must have, for neither Nancy nor Alice gave me questioning looks.

Or perhaps they, too, were too busy gawking openly at the girl who had finally said yes to him. Her eyes flickered across our faces, the only sign of her wavering confidence. If that was not enough to show that she did not belong at this table, then her robes most certainly did: while everyone at this table wore the black and yellow of Hufflepuff, the crest on her school robes was silver, the green serpent curling into the 'S' of the Slytherin House.

He gestured for her to sit, and sat down beside me, radiating happiness and chatting with new-found animation. The girl spoke little, even though we were her classmates, opting to listen in to his conversations with his friends as he ate, watching us, judging our reactions. When he spilled the juice, everyone chortled good-naturedly, long used to his clumsy ways. I didn't laugh; the fist was squeezing my heart too tight for me to be able to laugh. She didn't laugh either. She sighed patiently, silently whipping out her wand to dry his robes and eliminate the spilled juice.

I had never seen him so happy, never as enthusiastic as he appeared this morning. He stared at the girl beside him with adoring eyes. He laced his fingers with hers beneath the table. He forced her into the conversation to diminish her discomfort. He beamed around at his companions.

He was easily the happiest boy in the school.

My heart uttered a mangled cry as I realized that all my fantasies, all my dreams, had been crushed. My future and his future would not intertwine, could never have intertwined. I could never earn his adoration and affection. I could never have his heart, because it belonged, unconditionally, to someone else. If I was truthful to myself, no matter how much it stung, I could see that it had belonged to someone else for two years, at least.

I didn't hate her. She didn't steal his heart or hoodwink him with enchantments and potions. She had earned it, fair and square. I was nothing more than the best friend who had stood by him for six years. I was not angry or jealous by this turn of events; it was not in my nature: I held all of Helga's kindness and none of Salazar's vanity. But even as I realized this, I could not help but wonder if I could have lived happily ever after with him if this girl had not existed.

I was grateful for the excuse that class gave me. I pushed myself onto shaky legs, my insides clenching painfully. I climbed up the small steps that I had seen the unlikely couple descend. I told them I was heading to do some last minute homework. But I didn't go to class, and I didn't go to the library. Instead, I went to the lavatory, allowing the pieces of my shattered heart roll down my cheeks as salted tears without shame.

* * *

**this is in the POV of my own, unnamed OC. i just wanted a third person view of their relationship. if you want you can give her a name and use her, mentioning my pen name as due credit. thanks.**

****edited****


	21. October 1972: Startlingly Grey

He was coming out at just the moment they were coming in. In that split second's startlement, his eyes widened in surprise as he jerked to a halt. They took a step back, clinging to each other, finding comfort in each other. But his face quickly smoothed out into a smile.

"My apologies," his voice was like silk, even and smooth. He held the door to The Three Broomsticks open, gesturing for the two girls to walk on in. She slipped an arm into Catarina's before tugging her in. They glided past, confident now, chins raised regally, hips swaying seductively. It was, after all, a boy, and an older boy at that. She inclined her head, just enough to look him in the eyes to give a regal "thank you". When he dipped his head in response, the sun rays danced across his blond head. But it was his eyes that caught her attention: sparkling grey, like pools of liquid silver that poured into her young face.

But then he turned, the older boy, and the door of the pub closed behind him, the sparkling silver eyes gone with him.

* * *

****edited****


	22. December 1972: Walking Out

There had been only one indication that something was amiss: Bella's strange, haughty attitude towards her the day before. There was something in the way that Bella would smirk whenever they passed or the way she dropped all those funny little comments, a mocking smile on her lips. She seemed to be in on a secret, one that, for the first time, her younger sister was not in on as well. It all seemed to be very amusing to Bella.

Andromeda, however, had not found it amusing. But when she had finally cornered Bella alone and demanded to know what her problem was, her older sister had only laughed.

"Oh, you'll know soon enough." She had said with a smirk and had flitted away.

That night, Bella had Disapparated just outside the front gates, back to Rodolphus Lestrange. Druella and Cygnus had been rather relieved to see her return back to her married life. The day before, Andromeda had thought that they had been afraid that Bella would decide to run away from her marriage. She quickly understood the true reason behind her parents' relief: they did not want the influence of their headstrong, older daughter surrounding their middle daughter. But Andromeda would remind them once more that she was just as willful as her older sister.

The women of the house had just finished drinking their tea when Cygnus came home. He greeted his daughters and kissed his wife on the cheek. He then turned to look at Andromeda.

"Andromeda, in eight minutes, please come see me in my library."

"Yes, Father," Andromeda mumbled, but Cygnus had already turned away towards the refuge of his library. Andromeda sighed, wondering what he could possibly want to discuss with her.

"Go wash up, Dromeda." Druella said, a small smile on her lips. "And be sure not to keep your father waiting." Andromeda stared at the older witch.

"Do _you_ know what he wants?"

"Yes," Druella said quietly, that same tiny smile on her lips. "But I will let your father tell you." Then she raised herself to her feet and floated out of the room. Andromeda stared at where her mother had disappeared, thinking that her mother had that same knowing smile as Bella had the day before.

"Why does everyone know something that I don't?" Andromeda huffed, frustrated. She glared at her younger sister, whose blue eyes met hers and did not flinch. "Do _you_ know what's going on?"

"No, I don't." Cissy replied, crossing her pale arms over her chest. "No one ever tells me anything. I'm thirteen, but all of you still think that I'm a baby." Andromeda rolled her eyes at Cissy's oldest family issue. It had gotten a lot worse ever since her last birthday; it must have something to do with all the raging hormones and the fact that she was now officially a "teen". She had been cross all week, ever since Druella had denied her permission to go shopping alone with a friend. Andromeda, Druella had creed, would have to accompany her.

"Whatever, Cissy." She sighed. "Well, I supposed I should go meet Father and see what it is he wants."

She knocked before entering, so that she would not catch him unawares. When she slipped inside, she saw that Cygnus was reclined in a leather chair, reading. He glanced up and smiled when he saw her.

"Ah, Andromeda! Please, have a seat." He gestured towards the leather chair sitting opposite him. She complied with his request, back straight, all the while wondering what in Merlin's name had she done to be called here. He was not angry, and so she had nothing to fear, but she was deeply suspicious of her father's attitude.

"You are seventeen now, are you not?" He asked.

"Yes, Father, I am; I turned seventeen a month before Hogwarts reopened for this term."

"Splendid. You know what this means, of course: you are now legally of age, a grown woman in society and in politics." Andromeda listened to her father, wondering all the while where he was going with this.

"Father, I already know this." She told him politely. "The professors at school have already lectured us on all the responsibilities that we now hold in question of the law, the society, and the world."

"Responsibility," Cygnus repeated softly, and Andromeda nodded, thoroughly confused. "And have the professors, I wonder, spoken of the responsibility some wizards and witches, including yourself, hold to your family?" His dark eyes peered into Andromeda's brown ones, and for the first time she began to feel uneasy.

"To my family?"

"You are a woman of the noble house of Black. You are a woman not only in society but in body. You have a responsibility to your family that you must uphold. I was not lucky enough to wed a woman who would bare me sons. As a female, you cannot carry my name. But you can carry my blood, and the blood of the most ancient and purest wizarding family that ever was."

Andromeda's heart was thumping, slowly rising into her throat. She knew now what her father was indicating, knew why he had called her away from the family: he had learned from his first experience with Bellatrix.

"You want me to start finding a suitable husband; you want me to get married at the end of this year, like Bella did." She deduced tonelessly. The thought of it brought a metallic taste to her mouth, and her stomach churned angrily. If this was what it meant to be a Black, then she didn't want to be anymore. She didn't want to get married and throw her life away at seventeen!

"No and yes." He answered, his beady eyes never leaving her face. She glanced up at him, puzzled. "You _will_ be married at the end of summer. But you will not need to find a suitable husband; your mother and I have already arranged one."

Something nasty bubbled up within her then. Her heart was thumping against the confines of her chest, and her blood was boiling. Arranged marriages were a thing of the past! Even Bella had a choice on who she would have to spend the rest of her life with. It wasn't fair!

"Who have you arranged to be my husband?" She demanded.

"When it became clear that I would not have sons, I made an agreement with a family of worthy blood and similar status as myself. You see, she had a son and I had daughters, and we both wanted to keep our lineage pure and strong. It did not work out as I had planned the first time around, but it will work out this time. You will marry Lucius Malfoy."

Andromeda showed no emotion as she gazed into her father's eyes but her answer was resolute.

"No."

Cygnus inhaled sharply and his jaw clenched, visible signs of his attempts to remain calm.

"Mrs. Malfoy and I agreed that her son would marry one of my daughters when you were just a babe. These agreements were made to keep our blood pure, a subject that you have no understanding of just yet. One day you will understand what it is to uphold your responsibility, but until then you will do as told. You _will_ live the remainder of your life as a noble lady with a pure name – as Lucius Malfoy's wife."

"No." Andromeda jumped to her feet, fists clenched at her sides. Her answer was solid, her face livid, the ringing in her ears growing louder as anger clawed at her insides. She knew why Bella had acted as she had the day before; she knew why Bella had walked around with a giant smirk. Bella had known all along that their school nemesis was the one chosen for her to marry. Bella had known that Cygnus's failure to have her marry the Malfoy boy was going to be attempted once again with the next daughter in line. But Bella had not been outraged or upset about the attempt that would ensue to marry her younger sister with her enemy. She had known all along that Cygnus would fail, yet again, because Andromeda hated the arrogant blond git just as much as she did.

Cygnus was furious, his eyes slits and his neck vein popped. He was yelling at her. But through the roaring in her ears, she could not hear him. She was just as enraged as her father, and she would not tolerate it.

She didn't even wait to hear him out; she simply turned her heel and slammed the door open, stomping out of her father's library.

* * *

****edited****


	23. January 1973: I'm Done

She avoided him the whole day: no stolen glances, no intertwining fingers, no sweet gentle kisses. She spent breaks hidden amongst the books and glided through the halls silent and alone. She was going to end it, end it all now, before it ran away into a distant land, a foreign place she did not want to enter. Her feelings were mixed within her. Anger ruled her mind but pain squeezed her heart as she made up her mind on what to do.

She kept her voice indifferent as she told him. She tried not to look into his face so much; she did not want to see the disappointment, the sorrow, the hurt, the pain. So her mind fed her the continuous stream, the same stupid lie:

She didn't care, it meant nothing, she would forget.

"You would not understand even if I explained it to you."

Understand. How could he understand? He lived in a different world. His magical abilities didn't even bring him halfway into her reality.

"Just let me go, okay?"

She turned and walked away, leaving him standing there alone. Her mind found the strength to walk away with the pain of her heart.

OoO oOo OoO

"Dromeda-"

"No."

"Would you just-"

"No."

"Just hear me-"

"No!"

Why couldn't he just let it go? Why couldn't he forget her? Why did he have to come back, each time teasing and stabbing her heart so that she felt she would explode?

"I do not love you, Ted!" There she said it. Now could everyone just leave her alone? Could her heart stop that painful throbbing? She didn't love him, and she didn't want a thing to do with him!

He grabbed her wrists, his mouth moving furiously. Her mind screamed, her chest clenched; nothing made sense, nothing processed. It was as if she was numb, sensing nothing from the world around her, just drowning in her own emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. Pain, anger, desperation, sorrow, confusion, fear and resentment all cried from within her, clawing at her, stabbing at her from within.

"No, no, no!" She cried, freeing herself from his grip and clapping her hands over her ears. She wanted to silence him; she wanted to silence the anger and the hurt. Go away, go away!

"I will not listen!" Venomous, as her mind took over, yelling at him and the words that cut her, causing her physical pain. The turmoil quieted, and in that moment she whipped out her wand to point it at his chest.

"Do not approach me again. Do you understand?"

She whirled away, but not before she caught a glimpse of his deep sorrowful eyes and his dejected look.

OoO oOo OoO

His friends told him to forget her. His friends told him to move on. His friends told him to stop trying. His friends told him he was wasting his time. His friends told him it just wasn't meant to be.

But they didn't see what he saw. When he looked at her, he saw a princess chained by the restrictions of her world, silently screaming for someone to save her.

He would be her hero.

For if she truly didn't care, if she truly had let him go, then she wouldn't turn around every time he called out her name.

OoO oOo OoO

They had been arguing again. She had been just as icy, just as daunting, but he was stubborn.

She quieted instantly when his lips covered hers. Her mind reeled, screaming in panic and anger. It did not know what to do, how to react. She placed her hands on his chest, ready to push him away.

But her heart sprang up, calming her senses, giving her back the balance. He stepped back to take a breath and her heart commanded her hands to bring him back. It twirled as she clutched his sandy locks and brought his face back to hers, breathing in his scent, pressing his lips to hers, caressing his face with delicate fingers. Her body responded to this as if on instinct, curving to match his perfectly.

Like two pieces of a puzzle.

She pulled back, gasping from the lack of air and the weight of the long denied truth. It had always been there, like a little light of hope amidst all the torment and darkness. She had denied its existence for so long, had shoved it so deep within her that it crashed onto her with as much force as it had taken her to lock it away.

"Ted…" Just whispering his name made her insides flutter. He held her closer.

"Hush, love," He brushed away the salty tears from her cheeks before placing a light kiss on her lips. They tingled with the sweetness, with the love of it. "It will be alright."

She nodded shakily, resting her head on his chest. The truth remained unspoken, but it tied them together, crossing over the vast boundaries that divided their worlds. Sometime they would have to return to reality and deal with the conflicts. But for now, he loved her and she loved him. And for now, that was enough.

* * *

****edited****


	24. March 1973: Dangerous Crossroads

She sits away, apart. When you cross paths, she turns to you, acknowledges you. But it isn't the same. Her lips twist into a half-smile. Her eyes are tired, wary. What is there to be apprehensive of, you wonder. You don't know what is so terribly wrong, and dismiss it as a trifle thing that will flitter away as time passes, but still your chest tightens, natural instinct predicting the future better than your logic can.

Talk is bubbling up again. People are noticing. They also notice that you and she are related. They press you about it, and you can only dismiss the whispers for so long. At first, you scoffed at their talk, confidently waving them off as rumors: it will end, you tell them; it will end, you believe. But as the days turn into weeks, and the weeks slowly creep into months, you are not so sure, and your confidence is eaten away. Is it just a game? Or has she been dragged to a dangerous crossroads, staring at two paths twisting into different directions?

That sinking feeling will not go away. It sits in the pit of your stomach during dinner, during lunch, when she is sitting two tables down from where she belongs. It nags at you through the day, and clutches you when you see her with him from the corner of your eye. This was not traditional. This was not what Father and Mother had in mind. This was not acceptable in the noble house of Black.

One day she will have to choose. One day, she must either bend to the traditions of which you and she were raised, or denounce all her rights and inheritance that ties her to that path. One day, she would have to choose between a high school love and her family.

You want to believe that she will choose her family, that she will not sever the blood bond that marks you as sisters. But then you see her smiling into his kisses, pressing into his embraces, and that grey sinking feeling is back, and you are not quite sure what to believe anymore.

* * *

****edited****


	25. April 1973: Numb

_Do you love him?_

The question is so unexpected that I laugh. It is not unwanted – nothing is unwanted when it comes to you – just unexpected.

Sure, I answer, grinning. Sure, I love him. I married him, didn't I? I have to put up with him for the rest of my life.

You lean forward then, face bright with eagerness and hope.

_What is it that you love about him?_

I laugh again. What a strange conversation we are having! For a split second you look uncertain, as if maybe I will not understand. But then it smoothes out again, back into that expectant expression, and you still have not leaned away from me. After all, why would you? Big sisters are the best people from whom to ask advice.

Well, I love the way he doesn't question me; I rule this castle. And, I smirk mischievously, I love the way he fucks me.

You push away then, clicking your tongue disapprovingly. But your eyes were smiling. I can tell. I can always tell.

_That's not love._

I sigh, baffled by the oddity of this new-found obsession.

It is for me. Besides, there's no such thing as 'love'. It's just an allusion.

_No it's not. It's real. _

You have that look in your eyes, that look you get when you're getting particularly stubborn about something. You would give Mother that look all the time as a child. I was only foolish enough to be on the receiving end of that look three times in my life. I know I am treading dangerous waters now.

What do you know about love?

You do not even stop to think about my question, just blurt out the answer.

_I know it's the most beautiful thing in the world_.

There's no stopping the small sad smile from appearing on my face; never was good at concealing all my emotions. I never believed in hiding them – why not use them? Besides, you had never appreciated me hiding anything from you.

Sometimes the most beautiful things are the ugliest.

_This isn't._

Defensive. Forceful. That hard glint is strong, that stubborn streak roaring, and I know you will defend this fad you have with love even if it is choking you. But I don't realized just how much you would defend it. Not just now. Not just yet.

But all this chat is getting me no where! Patience is a virtue I never much respected.

Who are you in love with?

Simple, and to the point; time to get some answers.

I think it is an innocent enough question. I think I will get a reasonable answer. I never think for a moment to brace myself for the impact of your answer. The name grates my ears, and fills my head with a piercing buzz. The name is unexpected – unexpected and unwanted. Don't know what to do, what to say, what to feel.

I see your face: raised chin, eyes like stone. I can't fight you, won't fight you. You have already decided. I can tell. I can always tell.

I ask anyways: How far do you plan to go with him?

Cannot even say the name. My tongue is too swollen, can't curl around the sounds.

_Forever._

Mother and Father won't like it.

_They can't rule my life forever. You taught me that, Bella._

Yes; so I did. But it does not make me proud. Just makes my blood run cold. Just freezes my mind. Just renders me helpless and weak. I hate feeling weak. But I can't even feel that. It is like my senses are dead and my mind is sluggish. Can't make sense of what you said; can't make sense of myself.

Still don't know what to do; still don't know what to say; still don't know what to feel.

_They've got something planned for me. They want me to marry the Malfoy boy and spend the rest of my life making babies. I won't do it! I won't let them choose my future for me._

You smile and then rise, saying something about how you had promised to meet him at three. Time to go now; you'll talk to me later. You kiss my cheeks, before turning around to leave.

I watch you leave the room. I watch you make your way to the tall gates, where you'll be able to Disapparate.

You're gone now; gone for a long while now. And I am still numb from when you told me that all you want is to be Mrs. Ted Tonks.

* * *

****edited****


	26. June 1973: Gone

Narcissa came bounding the stairs, her long blonde hair, pulled back into a high ponytail, swinging across her back like a clock pendulum. Her blue eyes sparkled brightly, excitedly, and her cheeks were flushed a rosy color from rushing to get dressed so early in the morning. It was 7:47; she and Droma had to get to Diagon Alley by 8 to make it to summer sale.

"Dromeda!" Cissy hollered, trotting across the hall and into the sitting room. "Dromeda!" But the sitting room was vacant. Where was Dromeda? Cissy huffed impatiently before whirling around to check the drawing room, the study, and the dining room. Yet Dromeda remained unfound.

Cissy grabbed her bag, strapping it hastily across her shoulders, grumbling under her breath. Where _was_ she? They were going to be _late_, and then they would have to wait in an even longer line and have to fight with more people to get the best clothes and…

"Narcissa, please do not run, it is not lady-like." Druella didn't even look up as her youngest daughter barged into the small sitting room at the back of the mansion. The older woman sat at the back of the room, legs crossed properly, eyes glazed as they stared out the glass window. Her face was frozen in a blank mask and her voice was unwavering, but her air was poignant. Slowly, she turned her head to focus her eyes on her youngest daughter, who slowed to a walk as she crossed the small room.

"Sorry, Mother," Cissy breathed, gasping a little from her frantic run around the mansion. "I'm looking for Dromeda, have you seen her? She promised to take me to Diagon Ally so we could go shopping and it's almos-"

"Andromeda will not be taking you to Diagon Alley, Narcissa. You may go if you go with a friend but if not then you will not be going shopping today. I do apologize."

"Why?" Cissy frowned. "Where is Dromeda? Is she sick?"

"Andromeda is not here, Narcissa."

Now Cissy was really confused. Dromeda would not have gone without her; Bella would have, but Dromeda never would. Where else would she be at 8:00 on a summer morning?

"Well, where is she? Or, better yet, when is she coming back?"

A pause. Just a small moment of silence, of hesitation, barely lasting more than a heartbeat. But it was enough to make Narcissa's heart sink.

"Andromeda will not be returning, Narcissa."

Time could have stopped, as Narcissa stood unmoving, just searching her mother's eyes. Then she gave a nervous titter of a laugh.

"Mother, what do you mean she's not coming back? She has to come back; she is a part of this family, where else would she go? Mother, are you okay?" Narcissa broke off, leaning forward to place a hand on her mother's arm, concerned, when Druella turned her face away, her hard mask slipping for just a second.

Druella kept her face turned towards the window as she struggled to gain control of her emotions. She swallowed down the lump in her throat, pushed aside the urge to utter a mangled cry of pain, sorrow, and loss.

"Mother?" Narcissa didn't know what was happening. She didn't know what had happened so early in the morning, but her mother's behavior was scaring her. Something was certainly wrong with Dromeda.

Taking a shuddering breath, Druella turned to look into the clear blue eyes of her daughter, now tainted with concern and fear.

"She left, Narcissa, and she will not return. She and Father had a talk earlier this morning, before you awakened. She refused to terminate her relationship with that Muggle boy from her school. She stormed out and Disapparated as soon as she got passed the gates. She will not return; you father will not allow it."

Something ugly twisted itself in Narcissa's stomach as she looked away from her mother's cool gaze. Dromeda had left. She had _left_.

It couldn't be. It just couldn't be.

Druella pushed herself to her feet, placing a hand on Narcissa's cheek. She gave her a sad smile.

"She's not coming back, Narcissa. And I think it would be for the best if you let her go. Do not look for her; if she tries to contact you or meet with you, notify me. Alright?" Druella leaned in to kiss her forehead.

Something reared up in Narcissa then.

"No. No! No, Droma wouldn't leave, she wouldn't leave us! She will come back! You're lying! Dromeda!" Narcissa began to shout for her sister once more, this time insistent, desperate, and angry. "Dromeda! Dromeda!"

Narcissa fled from the room, renewing her search for her sister, this time with more determination and vigor. Where was Droma? Where was she!

"Dromeda! Dromeda, answer me!" She stormed up the stairs, not caring if she wasn't supposed to run. Her mind was in a frantic state. She had to find Dromeda! Somehow she knew that if she could just find Dromeda, everything would be okay.

Narcissa jolted to a halt on the third floor, directly in front of Andromeda's bedroom. The door stood ajar, but not enough to let her see inside. Her legs dragged her to the door, as if in a daze. Her heart pounded against her chest, clenching painfully. She reached out a hand to push the door open, and was surprised that it was shaking slightly.

She walked into the room, her heart frozen, her mind silent. There was a thickness to the room; a heavy deadness that reeked of fury and tears. The drawers were drawn open, but nothing was in them; the closet stood ajar but empty. The pictures that had hung on the walls had disappeared, stripped off to leave not a trace. The thick comforter, normally neatly tucked into the sides of the mattress, was touching the floor from when it was thrown back in her haste to grab her things and leave.

Andromeda was, unmistakably, gone.

Narcissa pressed her thin body against the wall, tears trickling down her cheeks freely as her mind continued to search vigorously for a logical explanation.

But there was none.

"Droma?" Cissy's voice was a choked whisper, just short of a sob, as she called out for her sister with the name she used to call her. She tucked her knees to her chest, burying her head into her arms, waiting for an answer.

But, of course, there was none.

* * *

****edited****


	27. July 1973: Yes

She sat on the couch of the Tonks' living room, her arms wrapped around herself protectively. She didn't move from her position, just stared into open space, trying to keep herself together. Her father hadn't understood; he had kicked her out of the house, out of the place that held all her childhood memories. Her mother didn't care, and if she did she did not bother to defend her daughter; she did not even have the decency to be present at meeting. And her sisters…well, she was too ashamed of herself and apprehensive of their reaction to even approach them. Life was in shambles for Andromeda Black. She had been on top of the world, had everything she could wish for, and now here she was, sitting in a Muggle living room, frantically trying to pull herself together before he came back. The pride that so marked her as a Black was screaming at her to pull herself together, and she could not silence the nasty little voice that was calling her a fool.

Ted strolled in then, pausing in the doorway to hang up his coat before walking into the living room. Andromeda immediately straightened her face into a blank, solid mask. But it didn't fool him; he knew something was wrong the moment he glanced at her face. Immediately, his cheerful face changed into one of concern.

"Dromeda?" The concern in his voice, the underlying sympathy cut her like a blade. She turned her face away, struggling to keep her calm appearance, though her heart was thrumming inside her chest and her stomach was churning. A creak and a dip in the couch alerted her to Ted's position beside her.

"What's wrong, Dromeda?" His eyes scanned her face, searching for an entrance to her soul. She took a second to compose her voice, to double check that she would not burst out into shameful tears.

"Nothing." Andromeda turned to him and attempted a tiny smile, but it came out as a grimace at best. She waited in silence as he scrutinized her face and tensed involuntarily as she sensed his hesitation.

"Have you been able to talk to your parents, yet?" His voice was soft, gentle. He only wanted to help her through her pain, but his sympathy was like salt to a raw, open wound. Her heart tightened and sank as she thought how easy she must be to read and manipulate if he could have guessed what was wrong in one go; she really must be a fool.

"No. No, I have not talked to my family because… because they will not even acknowledge me anymore and…" she broke off as a sob shook through her. She turned her head away from him, trying to hide the salty liquid trickling out from the corners of her eyes. But she knew he could hear her, and she knew that he knew she was crying, making her all the more humiliated. There was a heat and a hurt scorching through her body; she dug her nails into her thighs to keep from screaming.

"I don't know!" She burst out. "I don't know anything anymore. I have nowhere to go! I don't belong anywhere! I just want someone to be here for me and understand!"

"You have me."

Andromeda gave a harsh, bitter laugh.

"Oh, is that so? For how long do you plan on staying – just long enough to be able to tell your friends that you were able to see a Black hurt and broken?"

"I would never do that to you, Dromeda." His voice was so low, so thick with emotion that she cast a glance at his face. Upon seeing the obvious hurt sketched onto his face, Andromeda instantly regretted her hurtful words. Her chest tightened as she choked back another sob; here she was dying on the inside and she was cutting the one person who had not walked away.

The tears ran down her cheeks, and she didn't even bother trying to hide her sobs as she lifted herself off the couch. It all just hurt so much! She was stuck in a limbo between two worlds, and the more she hurt either party, the more she hurt herself.

"I'm s-so sor-sorry Ted. I shouldn't h-have said t-that." She kept her back turned to him, her head hanging low. She didn't know what to do. Could she just curl up in a corner and die, be swallowed up by the shadows and the earth?

Was that even possible?

"Forever."

His comment puzzled her so much that she turned around to face him. He cringed at her tear-soaked face, but answered the question he could read off her face.

"You asked me for how long I would stick around. I'd stay with you for ever."

His answer dazed her. She said nothing, just cast her eyes to his feet.

"Marry me, Dromeda."

The girl went completely rigid as every muscle in her body went rigid. Her mind went into overdrive, and it was suddenly as if the wall around her heart collapsed, releasing all the hidden emotions. Now, freed from the confines from the back of her mind, they overwhelmed her.

She was afraid. She didn't know what would happen and she couldn't think straight, which meant that she couldn't logically weigh up the pro's and con's of his proposal. She felt vulnerable, exposed, and she hated it.

Andromeda swallowed, fighting the urge to flee. She wanted to say yes; she wanted to rush into his arms and kiss him. But fear held her back. She wanted so bad to just tell him, to just open herself up to him; then, he could love her, heal her.

But if she let him reach her, touch her… there was always that chance that he could leave her more broken than she was at this moment. He could hurt her; he could leave her. As it was, she had let him get too close; she was sure that if anyone cut her open they would find his fingerprints littered around her heart.

Yet where else was she going to go? Home was gone. The Black mansion had shut her out, leaving her broken, vulnerable, and alone outside of its towering black gates. She had no where to turn, no one to run to. She couldn't go back; she could only go forward.

She didn't realize that he had crept up next to her until she felt his arms slipping around her waist, holding her close to his chest. She closed her eyes, breathing in his scent, as he nuzzled her hair. The warmth of his body, the beat of his pulse, the smell of him calmed her, soothing her reeling mind.

"You don't need to answer right now. But just think about it, okay?"

Andromeda took a shuddering breath. She didn't want to leave it for later. She didn't want to give herself more time to think, because a part of her still wanted to bolt out the door. She gave a shuddering breath before gently pushing him away, just enough to see his face.

To her family, this was the face of just another Muggle. But to her, Ted was everything.

"Yes." She whispered simply. Her voice trembled slightly, an effect of tears and apprehension. His hazel eyes peered into hers, and his brow pinched together with puzzlement.

"Yes?"

One more shaky breath as she pushed the fears, the anxiety, to the back of her mind. It was time to move forward. It was time to live her life. She gave a small, shaky smile, but her voice was clearer, louder, as she repeated into his sweet, honest face:

"Yes."

* * *

****edited****


	28. September 1973: Lost Chance

She appeared with a _pop_ at the top of the hill, unnoticed by any of the guests below. A slight breeze brushed away the stray black curls from her face, revealing a pair of dark brown, heavily lidded eyes that gazed out at the reception party emotionlessly. Snapping out of her gaze, she walked towards a large board decorated with royal purple ribbons and scattered rose petals. It floated in midair, magic enabling it to be propped up at eye-level without an easel. Written at the top, in perfect calligraphy, were the names of the bride and groom: Andromeda Black and Ted Tonks. Below, listed in alphabetical order by surname, were the names of the invitees. It was a short list, to be sure; it was obvious that most of the bride's family was not to attend. But there were only two names which the woman wanted to find.

For a moment, she hesitated, uncertain of what she would find. A week ago, all she had wanted was to be sure of her mother's accusations, to confirm whether or not the immediate family of the bride had even received an invitation. She had waited impatiently, and somewhat apprehensively, for the arrival of an invitation to her house of Lestrange; when none came, she had brushed it off, convincing herself that an invitation to her sister's wedding was sure to arrive at the Black mansion, with her name included. However, as Druella Black repeated edgily, none had arrived.

With a hard swallow, the woman pushed past the initial apprehensive hesitation that always precedes the revelations of a harsh truth.

She allowed her fingers to glide down the paper, leading her dark eyes as they searched for the surname 'Lestrange' among the handful of other guests whose last names began with 'L'. Her heart dropped as her finger glided down, down, finally reaching the 'M'. She took a deep breath before turning her attention to the list underneath the cursive 'B', which contain more invitees than had 'L'. She kept her breath steady and her mind quiet as she scanned the names, her heart a tightening knot in her stomach.

Her finger froze on the first "Black" that was listed. She held her breath as she read the name: _Sirius Black_. Her heart twisted painfully as she glanced down, searching for the rest of the Blacks, the rest of the family who should be listed down as guests to attend the reception party.

Sirius wasn't just the first Black to be mentioned – he was the _only_ Black.

For several minutes, she just stood there, gazing at the poster board, her stomach churning as the laughter and music from below drifted up to her ears. They had not been invited; _she_ had not been invited. They had shared everything, had held each others' secrets, and had guarded each others' backs. Their friendship, their memories, their childhood... how quickly it all seemed to lose its worth. She stood, shaking slightly, as realization washed upon her. Andromeda had chosen to give it all up - all of it - for him. _Him_! A worthless Mudblood, a disgrace to the wizarding world, a disgrace to their name! For him, Andromeda had turned her back on her family. For him, she had chosen to betray her sisters.

Something nasty clawed inside her belly, screaming and raging war within her. Something prickled at the corners of her eyes, but the woman shook her head angrily, refusing to let it continue. The tightness in her chest was overwhelming, suffocating. With a trembling hand, she reached into her robes, drawing out her wand. She barely thought as her hand lifted, her lips parted to release a hex, and jets of blue shot out from the tip of her wand. She didn't stick around to watch as the gazebo was eaten by flames; she disappeared just as quickly as she had appeared, cursing the Mudblood who had stolen her sister from her.

* * *

****edited****


	29. September 1973: Erasing Memories

"You must do it, Druella!"

"And I shall," was the cool reply.

"Well, take out your wand and be done with it already! Now!"

"Do not attempt to order me about, Walburga. I am not your handmaid nor your servant. I will not tolerate being treated as such."

The woman flushed crimson, but did not lose step with her companion. Her air was haughty and pompous; it was obvious that she was a well respected woman, though she lacked the grace of the slender woman gliding beside her.

"You should have done this months ago!" She hissed. The two women slowed to a halt when they reached a small room at the end of the hallway. The entire room had been given to the sole purpose of mapping out the extensive pedigree of the Black family.

"I wanted to give her a chance to come home." Druella replied softly; she spoke in a much gentler voice, and her gaze settled on three heads woven expertly into the tapestry: Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa.

"You are too soft, Druella!" Walburga declared boldly. "You allowed her to run amok with blood traitors and Mudbloods; you allowed her to overlook her place and dirty her name! You are too soft to have tightened your hold on her before this whole issue began, and are you are too soft to have done what needed to have been done a long time ago!"

"Walburga," Druella tilted her head to stare at her with cold eyes, her voice dangerously low. "When both of your children are old and grown and have turned out to be perfect gentlemen, then you may criticize how I raise my children. Until then, I expect you to leave Cygnus and I, as well as our daughters, well alone."

"And who are you daughters, pray tell?" Walburga asked quietly. Her tone was light, but her gaze was a dare. Druella returned the stare with her own icy one.

"Bellatrix and Narcissa need not suffer from the likes of those with loose, impudent tongues, least of all yours."

"And the girl who married the Mudblood?" Walburga demanded, unperturbed by the insult. Druella hesitated before answering.

"She is no daughter of mine." And with that she bid Walburga a good day and waltzed from the room. A smirk twisted Walburga Black's lips as she drew out a wand from beneath her robes. She lifted her wand and then sliced it through the air; immediately, there was a sizzling crack and the smell of burnt cloth filled the small room.

She inspected her handiwork closely before stepping out of the room. There, on the tapestry, right where Druella had been gazing at not three minutes prior was a burned circle where the head of Andromeda had once been.

* * *

****edited****


	30. October 1973: Hatred

"You're sister ran off with a _Muggle_?"  
"Who would have thought that something like _this_ would happen to the _Blacks_."  
"Have you been with your sister recently? I don't want you to touch me after you've been in contact with a filthy Muggle!"  
"So, does this mean you're into Muggle-borns, too?"  
"Narcissa, please tell me you aren't going to be dragging in any dirt from your sister's house when you come over in the spring."  
"Hey, Black, are you going to start smooching the Hufflepuffs now? Haha!"

Narcissa walked the corridors alone, preferring the comfort of silence rather than the obnoxious taunts of the other Slytherins. She could have brushed off the rumors; but there, on page seven of the _Daily Prophet_, was the photo of the day, printed proof that the rumors were indeed fact. She was grateful that Catarina had understood when she said she wanted to just be alone; it was harder to remain calm and collected when more people were around.

Something wet struck her cheek. She whirled around, blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. And then she saw them, sauntering up to her from the adjoining hallway: Sirius Black and James Potter, identical malicious grins on their faces, eyes lit mischievously as they stalked their latest victim. Lupin and Pettigrew remained in the background, as usual, the former leaning against the wall as the fatter boy lingered eagerly just behind her cousin and the black-haired boy.

"What's up, cousin?" Sirius called out haughtily. "You know, you missed a really good party the other week. There was music, and dancing – oh, and really good food. Oh, and of course, lot's of pretty girls. Ain't that right, Prongs?"

"Oh yeah," James gave a cocky grin as he sauntered past Sirius, circling around the older blonde girl, who was snapping her head left and right to keep her eyes upon them. "_Lot's_ of pretty girls. Two of them couldn't keep their hands off of you." Sirius barked out a laugh, and the two boys stepped closer to their catch.

"What are you talking about?" Cissy snapped, shuffling back a step. "You could not have possibly gone to a party, school had only just begun!"

"My dear cousin, we did not say it was here at Hogwarts, did we?"

"Where did it take place, then?" demanded Cissy, raising her chin defiantly as the boys exchanged mocking glances.

"Between the Burvju Hills – wonderful place, wonderful time."

Narcissa frowned at James's words.

"How in Merlin's name did you ever manage to make it off the school grounds to arrive at the Burvju Hills?"

The boys grinned wider. James inched closer.

"You know, it's actually quite brilliant how we did it – takes a lot of initiative, cleverness, and talent."

"Are you trying to impress me, Potter?" Cissy spat. "Or do you enjoy stroking your own ego?"

"Ah, don't be so nasty, Cissy-"

"Don't call me that!"

"-otherwise I might change my mind about letting you in on our little secret."

"Hang on," Sirius interrupted, frowning slightly. "If we tell her, wouldn't that make _three_ people we share the secret with?"

"Oh, bummer. Yeah, you're right, Padfoot, that would make three." James shook his head in mock sadness and sighed loudly. "Well, you know what they say about sharing secrets. Looks like I'm going to have to kill you afterward." His hand twitched towards his pocket. But before his fingers could brush by his wand, Narcissa whipped hers out with a snarl.

"Oy!" Sirius yelled, and now both boys had their wands drawn, pointing directly at Cissy. Her eyes flicked back and forth, watching warily for any hint of movement.

"You really did miss an awesome party." James told her, eyes fixed on her wand. "We really missed you."

"You should have come along." Sirius's grin was still plastered to his smug face. "No, hang out, I just remembered." He stared into her cool blue eyes from where he stood, carefully accentuating each of his next words. "You weren't invited."

Cissy snapped. In a flash, she had slashed her wand, sending Sirius crashing into the far wall with a yelp. James lifted his wand to defend his friend, but Cissy was older, faster, stronger, fueled by hatred and anger. There was a roaring in her ears and sickening clench in her abdomen. Hot tears burned her eyes but she blinked them away furiously as suddenly it was four against one. A red glare grazed her elbow and she hissed from the pain and the fresh wave of anger that washed through her. She doubled her efforts to ward off her attackers.

She barely noticed the crowd of students that had gathered around them, or the voice that was screaming "Stop! I'm a Prefect, stop!" All her frustration, all her anger, all her humiliation and loneliness and feelings of abandonment poured out from the tiny bottle to which she had contained them, overwhelming her as she twirled and jabbed at her hated cousin and his friends.

Then suddenly, a pair of strong arms gripped her arms, and her wand was wrenched from her hands. Sirius, James, Pettigrew, and Lupin met the same fate; James and Sirius were arguing with Professor Kord, no doubt stringing together a pack of excuses to try and worm their ways out.

"That is enough of this type of behavior from _you_ lot!" Came the voice at her ear. "The rest of you, unless you would like to suffer the same consequences as these miserable five, I suggest you scatter immediately! Professor Kord, take Mister Black, Mister Potter, Mister Lupin, and Mister Pettigrew up to Professor McGonagall – she'll know what to do with them. As for you, Miss Black," Narcissa was spun around to face Madam Sporta, the Quidditch instructor. "It's off to Professor Slughorn for you – and spare me any of your pathetic excuses!"

Cissy marched off after Madam Sporta, glaring at her back. She was not going to give any excuses; she was tired of excuses. She just wanted to scream, to rage, to hit something – or someone.

She knew where Sirius and James had sneaked off to on September 16. She knew that they had received the invitation, the one she had not gotten. For 22 days she had made excuses for her. But now she didn't.

She hated Andromeda. She hated Andromeda for not calling; she hated Andromeda for not inviting her to the wedding; she hated Andromeda for making Father and Mother angry; she hated Andromeda for liking Sirius more; she hated Andromeda for making her life miserable.

But above all, she hated Andromeda for being selfish and running off with that _Mudblood_.

* * *

****edited****


	31. November 1973: Shattered Shells

"You would not understand, Ted."

"What wouldn't I understand, Dromeda? You know, you keep saying that, but have you even _tried_ to explain it to me? You're my _wife_; it isn't just your problem anymore, it's _ours_. I wish you could trust me enough to just tell me what's wrong – I think that not only have I proven that I love you but that I will always be here for you." His glare burned into her, and she looked away to keep hot tears from flowing. She hated this. She hated when they fought. She hated it when he got angry.

"It's complicated." She mumbled quietly.

"Oh, it's complicated! I don't know whether to take that as an insult to my intelligence or my significance."

Andromeda looked up at him, biting her tongue to reign in her anger, her confusion, and her pain.

"Please, Ted, can we do this some other time?"

"No, we can't, because this should have been done a long time ago!" He stomped closer to her, glaring down at her, his eyes burning into hers. "I'm tired of not talking about it, of putting it off for later; I'm sick of seeing you so hurt and not being able to heal you because you won't tell me what to do!"

His comment flared her up at once.

"I'm not broken Ted!"

"No, you're not." He agreed. "But we can't keep going on like this. You need to deal with it, Andromeda, but you need to let me in because the way you're going, you'll make yourself crazy before our first-year anniversary! Let me help you!"

"Why is it always _me_ who is the problem? Excuse me for messing things up all the time! Thanks for letting me know; I'll try harder!" She glared back into his hazel eyes, voice barely a shout.

"I can't believe what I'm hearing! It's got nothing to do with you messing things up, but you have a problem, Andromeda, I can tell – don't try telling me you're fine, I know that's the _first_ sign that you're not!"

"What's wrong with me, then?" She demanded hotly. Ted drew in a hard breath.

"This is about your family – about how you never talk about them and how what they did to you really affect you!"

"Father disowned me and Mother took me off the tapestry. Forget my Uncle Orion and Aunt Walburga, they think I'm dirt! I do not exist to them and I have wiped them from my life. Yes, it hurt; they were family. But I did it, I'm done with them and now it's over with. There is nothing to talk about."

"Damn it, Andromeda, I'm not talking about your parents! I'm talking about the two people who care about you the most, the two people who you're supposed to talk things out with – your sisters, Bellatrix and Narcissa!"

Andromeda was stunned into silence. Her expression was one of someone who had been slapped. For a second, her mind slowed. For months, she hadn't even thought of their names, much less spoken about them out loud. Now here he was, shouting their names at her, driving the knife further into her stomach.

"It's complicated." She repeated. Her voice sounded distant even to her own ears, and her lower lip quivered slightly. It hurt too much to even think; she didn't want to talk about it. Not now, not ever.

"Again with the complication!" Ted threw his hands up in exasperation. "I for one don't see how it's so complicated. How hard is it to send out two extra invitations?"

Andromeda blinked up at him, thrown off by this specific example. If he was talking about what she thought he was talking about…well, she hadn't thought he had even noticed.

"Invitations?"

"Yea, like to the wedding – _our _wedding. They're your sisters, Andromeda, you love them and they love you! I didn't say anything when I found out because I didn't know if something had come up and I didn't want to hurt you so soon after we tied the knot. But it was badly done, Andromeda! Very badly done! How the hell do you not invite your own sisters!"

Anger bubbled up in her chest. How dare he try to turn the tables around and make her the bad guy!

"They would not have attended anyways." She spat at him.

"You invite them out of courtesy because they are your family and because they have the right to decide whether to come or not!"

"Alright, fine then, I should have sent them an invitation! But why must I call upon them? Why can't they call me? In case it has escaped your notice, I do not receive any owls from _them_ either!"

"Maybe it's because they have not gotten any from you! I don't know Narcissa, so fine, whatever. But Bellatrix! Man, the two of you were like glued together! You were like peanut butter and jelly!" She frowned in confusion at his Muggle simile, but quickly dismissed it as insignificant at the present moment.

"Then why must _I _be the one to instigate a meeting? If she cared about me then she would have come to see me by now!"

"Oh my gosh, I don't believe what I'm hearing! Stop trying to push this on your sisters! Just go talk to them because then it won't be your problem – hey, at least you tried! I can't understand why you won't even send them a letter. For crying out loud, what is so hard about that?"

"Because they don't care about me anymore!"

Suddenly, everything she had tried to ignore, everything she had tried to keep locked up was released, and there was no stopping it. The protective shell she had built around herself had been wearing a growing crack for several months; but now it broke, spilling the contents of her heart in a rush of emotions and tears.

"They don't care! I have not heard from them since I ran away – no owls, no contact by Floo, no fireside calls! Bella despises me! She despises me, I know it, and that's why she won't come over, she won't talk to me, she won't see me! Cissy most likely thinks that I am an embarrassment and a shameful connection! Do not touch me!" She flung herself away from him as he reached over to pull her close. His face twisted with pain and she shrank away from it, humiliated and hurt. Andromeda wrapped her arms around herself.

"I am sorry! I am sorry that I could do nothing right! I could never be Bella and I could never be Cissy! And I'm sorry that I am not as beautiful as my sisters! I'm s-sorry that I am not as powerful as Bella! And I'm sorry that I did not just succumb to my father's wishes! And I'm sorry that I always embarrassed and upset Mother because I was never s-silent and sweet and beautiful and g-gentle like Cissy! And I am sorry that I fell in l-love and I am sorry that it complicated my life a whole lot more and it hurts because I want my sisters back but if I l-leave you then I'll die! And I'm s-sorry that I married a M-Muggle and that I could n-not f-find someone better and of p-purer b-blood because then maybe my family would not hate me! And I'm sorry I was a-always the m-mistake and the p-p-problem and that I could never ever do an-anything right!"

Her knees buckled and she collapsed on the floor, holding herself tight, as if physical pressure would keep her from exploding. All the while, Ted watched her helplessly, watched her as her calm façade cracked and all her raw emotions came flooding out. She was drowning and he couldn't do anything about it, just watch silently as she shifted through her vulnerability and humiliation alone.

The minutes ticked by, but she said no more, just rocked herself back and forth, holding herself together. Finally, Ted cautiously shuffled his way to her side. She didn't look at him but she didn't yell at him or flinch away. Slowly, so as not to frighten her, he settled himself by her side, gently enveloping her in his arms.

"Andromeda, I can't change what I am, and I can't change the fact that I love you. But I swear to you, if I could find a way to make my whole family wizards and witches I would do it in a heartbeat – less than a heartbeat, actually. But I can't." He pressed his lips to her hair. "I'm sorry I'm a Muggle-born." He whispered.

Andromeda took in a shuddering breath, feeling guilty.

"Ted, I didn't mean it like that. I don't wish you were different. You're all I want, really. I love you, and your family is really sweet to me – it's more than I deserve. It just hurts so much to be cut off from everything. Especially…" she didn't say their names, but he knew what she meant.

"You could have tried writing to them. At least give them a chance, explain it to them. They might understand."

She squeezed her eyes together to control the flow of fresh tears.

"They won't," she whispered. "You saw what she did at our wedding."

"You don't know for sure that was her, Dromeda."

"Ted, do you honestly believe that it just happened to catch on fire?" She choked out. "It was her, I know it. It's Bella's way of doing things. She does not want to talk to me."

Silence fell over them; she was crying silently, mourning the loss of her sisters, finally facing the pain of having a part of her brutally cut off, and he had nothing to say.

"That's not all of it though," she sniffled finally.

"Hm?"

"I was not _just_ afraid of their reactions. That was a big part, the main part of why I didn't invite them. But some days," she paused, looking down at her feet. "I just wanted it to be _my_ day."

Ted frowned.

"I don't understand how they could make it _not_ your day. You would have been getting married, not them."

"I know," she struggled. "But I just… Merlin, this is going to sound really shallow… I didn't want to have to compete with them."

"Love, you have completely lost me." He craned his head to try to peer into her face, but she kept her eyes fixed on the floor.

"I have never…been the pretty one. Cissy is the prettiest; she's cute, blonde, naïve. Everyone loves her, and she's sweet and nice to just about everyone. And Bella is… well, she's Bella. And I'm always just….me. Just me. I look like Bella, kind of, but not really. I'm like a watered down version." She swallowed, feeling conceited and stupid as she relayed this to him. "I didn't want your friends and your family to look at me and see Bella. I didn't want to have to be compared with Bella and then Cissy, because I'm _never_ good enough next to them." She laughed dryly. "I am 'Bella, but not quite', as Alice Prewett described me once."

Ted stared at her, not sure whether to feel exasperated with her or break out laughing. He could not believe it. Andromeda Black – no, Andromeda _Tonks_, he corrected himself proudly – was jealous. It was such a normal emotion, one he had had to deal with during his time at Hogwarts, that he could not believe he didn't catch it before. It all became much clearer to him now. It certainly explained Andromeda's reluctance to contact her sisters; besides feeling abandoned, confused, afraid, and angry, she was jealous of her sisters, particularly Bella. As arbitrary as it was, he understood: she was the second child, neither the pampered youngest nor the beloved eldest; she was practically identical to Bellatrix and, only a year younger, fair game to be compared to said sister by House mates, teachers, and family members. She had never felt envy before – she had everything she wanted, who was there at Hogwarts to envy? – and so now that it had crept up on her, she had no clue how to deal with it.

To think all this could have been avoided if they had just had this conversation sooner.

He squeezed her tightly, chuckling softly into her hair.

"Dromeda, you don't have to compare yourself to your sisters. _I_ know the difference between you and Bellatrix, and I think you know which one I find more beautiful." He brushed her dark brown curls away with a gentle hand before leaning in to place soft kisses on her neck.

"I did not doubt your love for me," she mumbled. "I just… I wanted it to be _my_ day, without having to worry about what they thought or what people thought. And then I never got any owls, and I didn't ever hear a word from them…I got angry…and, well, it all just grew to be very strong, and I was upset and angry and hurt and…"

"Jealous?" Ted supplied, trying not to smirk. Andromeda pursed her lips.

"Yes…jealous…in any case, I did not put them on the guest list and you did not mention it and so I…I let it slide. Then the wedding came and I was feeling guilty about it until the gazebo caught fire and then…well, it did not hurt so much anymore. She would have just come anyways, invite or no invite, if she had cared."

"Who?"

"Bella. That's her style. If she had not minded all so much she would have just joined the party. But she didn't, she decided to put a damper on our party instead, and so I know that she is angry and that she will never accept you." She sighed, then looked up into Ted's face. Her eyes were puffy and red. "Am I a very terrible person, Ted?"

He kissed her nose. A smile tugged at Ted's lips: here he was, a Muggle-born, cradling possibly the strongest and most beautiful girl in the whole world, and she was gazing up at him with innocent, naked eyes, allowing _him_, of all people, to heal her.

"Dromeda, everyone feels things they don't like to feel. I remember when you went out with Durnap in our fifth year. I was always being paired up with him for Potions, and I remember I would sit there thinking up all the ways I could maul him with my knife or stuff some concoction down his throat and maybe kill him so that I would not have to see him with you." He chuckled and kissed her nose again. "Slicing his throat always seemed the easiest, though."

"That is truly terrible, Ted. He was not all that bad." She gave a tiny smile.

"He always had his hands all over you; believe me, he _was_ all that bad." He told her. She pulled back, and though her eyes were still red and puffy, her lips turned up in a small, yet mischievous grin.

"Is that a hint of jealousy I detect in your voice?"

"I have no clue what you're talking about." He told her before lowering his lips to her neck once more. He kissed her soft skin, traveling up to her ear before making his way down to her collarbone.

"Is this your way of making me feel better, by trying to seduce me?" Andromeda asked, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation.

"Is it working?" He shifted so that he could lower his arms to her waist, rubbing circles with his thumb on her stomach.

"Not really."

"Not really?" He pulled away, mocking offense. She giggled.

"You, Ted Tonks, are going to have to do a lot better than that."

He held her gaze for a moment, and then shrugged.

"Okay. I can do that." Andromeda cried out with surprise as he pressed kisses to her arms, neck, eyes, and lips. Then he swept her up in his arms, stealing his way to the bedroom to show her how much he truly loved her.

* * *

****edited****


	32. December 1973: Last Hope

Narcissa crept to the end of the hallway, to the spare room all the way in the corner that was dedicated to holding an extensive version of the Black family tree. Each generation, new members of the family would be added on by a special spell. The same way family members could be added on by deep magic, they could be removed by magic.

And that was what had happened to Droma. No, not Droma - _Andromeda_; she was not Droma anymore, not since she had left. At least, that was what Mother had said: Andromeda had left the ancient and most noble house of Black for some lowly Muggle-born. The _Daily Prophet_ said that, too. And that was the end of it. No one mentioned the second Black daughter after that, for fear that the angry tension would swell to such an enormous amount that it would rupture the house.

But that wasn't the way Bella told it. Not at night, at least. Bella was the only one who said that Andromeda would come back. No, not said – _swore_. And if Bella swore something, then it was going to happen. Bella didn't lie. Not to Narcissa. Not to her sisters. So if Bella said that the second daughter of Cygnus Black, that the girl with the bouncy chocolate waves, flirtatious attitude and confident manner, would come back, then perhaps she was Droma after all.

Narcissa kept in the shadows, knowing that her long blonde hair would be like a beacon either way. This wasn't Hogwarts; there was no curfew to follow. But it was just past two in the morning, and long since everyone had retired for their beds. And while she was free to roam around Number 12, Grimmauld Place at her will, she still felt just slightly on edge. Besides, if she wanted to find out why there were flashes of different colored lights sparkling from that spare room that held the Black family tree, she was going to have to do her fair share of sneaking around. _Quietly_.

The youngest daughter of Cygnus and Druella Black slipped into the doorway of the small parlor that was across from the spare room. She stayed unmoving, barely breathing, in the darkness at the edge of the parlor, watching as the figure within the spare room stroked a spot in the tapestry that ran along the walls. Should Bella sense her presence, she could at least make an escape through the parlor. She mentally ran through her escape route: through the parlor, into the lounge, passed the ballroom, up two flights of stairs to her bedroom, where she would dive under the covers and feign ignorance of anything that occurred within the spare room.

But this plan was not needed, and young Narcissa Black was content to crouch in the shadows, watching as her oldest sister ran one hand along the walls, wand in her other hand, black curly hair cascading down her back. Her lips were moving ever so slightly, and though Narcissa could hear the low murmurs of Bellatrix's voice, she could not make out any individual words. Bellatrix traced with her hand the branches of the family tree that stretched out like veins across the walls of the room. She would tap her wand here, or jab it there, and jets of light would stream from the tip, illuminating the small room in deep purples, raspberry reds, royal blues, and dazzling white. All the while, Bellatrix murmured softly, fingertips kissing the giant tapestry, face concentrated, focused.

She saw it then, when Bella shifted just a bit to the right. It was the newest generation, her own generation. There, between two ovals which she knew to represent Bellatrix and herself, was a brown smudge, like a burn. Narcissa knew who belonged there; she knew who belonged in that empty hole.

According to this room, there was no Droma. There was not even Andromeda. There was just an empty space that no one could fill. There was just the dirty debris that is left behind when someone leaves a house with muddy sneakers.

Narcissa watched Bella for a long time – watched her struggle on. But determination eventually faded from her face, and Narcissa watched as the beginning signs of defeat became visible on her face, even in the oddly illuminated room. Her fingers pressed against the branches of the family tree, trailing over faces, names, until they came to rest upon the brown smudge – the brown smudge right in between "Bellatrix" and "Narcissa". Every part of Bella became still, frozen, eyes and fingers focused on this one spot. Narcissa watched from the shadows, just as still, just as silent.

Then, Bellatrix's lips parted. A word slipped out, just a whisper, like silk robes slipping smoothly past skin, swollen with yearning and love. It was the only word that the eldest daughter had said all night that the youngest had been able to comprehend:

"Dromeda"

* * *

****edited****


	33. March 1974: Denial

He was sitting comfortably in the living room when she walked in that evening. He didn't appear troubled when she stopped in the doorway to glare suspiciously at his unexpected figure; on the contrary, he seemed quite at ease, lounging in the armed recliner, twirling his wand between his thin white fingers. His skin, white as death, contrasted with his black robes. He had lifted his head and was now observing her with eyes that were animal-like and slightly unnerving: two slits, like a snake, and such a deep red in color they appeared to be bleeding.

"Good evening, Bellatrix." His voice was soft, his tone almost mocking, and it made her spine prickle. "I was wondering when you would arrive." His eyes fixed upon hers and, though it made her insides squirm, she looked back, refusing to show any fear or weakness by glancing away.

"I apologize if I kept you waiting for long. Please do not think of questioning my mother's upbringing; she would be appalled if I kept a guest waiting on my behalf. But perhaps you should inform me of your planned arrival the next time you come to visit." She watched him closely, judging his reaction; she was not going to allow him to walk clean with this kind of behavior, not in her house, but she had heard of his greatness, of his power, and knew that this was one fellow she did not want to piss off.

The corners of his mouth twitched, yet whether for a contained snarl or smile, she knew not which. She waited for him to tell her of his business but he remained silent, his eyes never once straying from her face. She huffed inwardly.

"Rodolphus does not return for yet another hour, at the least."

"It is not Rodolphus I cam here to see."

Bellatrix's dark eyes narrowed.

"What do you want from me?"

His lips twitched again, this time in a twisted smirk. He continued to twirl his wand with his fingers, the only part of him, other than the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, that did not remain still as stone. His red eyes never once paused in their scrutiny of her, rarely even blinking at all.

"I don't recall mentioning that I was here to see you." There it was again: that hint of mockery, that air of conceit. She was not at all accustomed to being spoken to in such a way, and found she did not like it one bit.

"I am mistress of this house," Bellatrix told him haughtily. "Rodolphus and I have no children. Who else would you be here to see – the house elf?"

His eyes darkened and a low hiss slipped from between his lips. Bellatrix smirked; he may have been confident and powerful, but he was still human: he had his weak points. The trick was finding it and exploiting it.

"I think you will find that I do not tolerate such filth. I do not associate myself with servants or half-breeds… or Squibs and their filthy Mudblood counterparts, for that matter."

She froze and he smirked. She, like all humans, had a weak point; the trick was finding it and exploiting it.

"A shame, really." He continued nonchalantly, his fingers brushing his wand lightly as his red eyes danced around her figure. "Her blood was one of the purest there is. The Blacks always knew better than to breed with the likes of Muggles. It's a pity your sister – Andromeda, was it – was foolish enough to be hoodwinked by such filth."

A knot wedged itself in Bellatrix's throat when he said her name. Anger exploded in her belly, clawing its way up. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms to keep her voice and words even, though her eyes were just black slits. She didn't care for how he addressed her sister, as if she were as worthless as that Mudblood.

"She is not yet nineteen." Bellatrix informed him coldly. "She is young, she is stupid, and she makes mistakes. She will realize where her rightful place is once she grows up."

The Dark Lord gave out a dry laugh, high and cold, that held no humor.

"You don't honestly expect her to come back, do you Bellatrix? I heard that you were intelligent; don't sell yourself to a fool's promise."

Bellatrix eyed him icily, resisting the urge to grab her wand and curse him into the next decade. For several seconds they stared at each other in a tense silence. Then the pale man let out another laugh, soft and cold.

"Mudbloods know how to hold onto their catch, Bellatrix. They are like parasites or leeches, sinking their teeth into their prey and squeezing their tentacles to keep it from escaping. They begin at the top, with the strong and the pure, feeding on our power. The Mudblood that holds your sister now is no different; soon, he will give her that thing which will forever bind her to his side. Your sister is infected; she will not return."

"Andromeda is, and will always be, a pureblood, a daughter of one of the oldest and purest magical families!"

"A pureblood who is now contaminated and rotten and holds no use or value to me or this world anymore! She has been run down by the filth that has been allowed to share our society by those too weak to realize the danger they pose. It is in this way that they plan to take down the whole of the wizarding world. Your sister is as good as dead; do your part to be sure that the wizarding society does not meet the same fate."

Bellatrix was shaking with rage; she could not remember a time during which she had so loathed someone. It was bad enough that he was here, condemning her sister to hell; to say it with indifference, with such finality, to repeat over and over that Andromeda was not only never coming back but that she had chosen to become as damned as that Mudblood. The shadows that had lurked in the back of her mind were now dancing around, whooping and shouting, and some small part of her knew that the words he spoke were true.

"Get out." She spat, barely louder than a whisper. "Get out and do not plague me with these ideas again."

His eyes flashed, and she feared that she had crossed a line. But she was so filled with fury that she could barely control it; there was a ringing in her ears and a dull buzzing in her head. His red eyes burned into hers, scrutinizing her once more. Then, strangely enough, he chuckled.

"You will see, Bellatrix; you will know that I am right." He rose to his feet in one fluid motion, tucking his wand into his robes, which whispered around his form in a soft hiss.

"I will return for your final answer once you have cleared your head. Know that this will not occur again; the Dark Lord does not forgive easily, nor does he give second chances." His eyes were cold and piercing. Her heart quickened, but she did not look away, holding his red gaze with her black ones. She swallowed before braving to ask:

"Why, then, privilege me with a second chance now?"

He paused before answering, and when he did so it was in a quiet, almost gentle, tone.

"There is a fire within you that intrigues me; I have not found such passion and power in any witch or wizard yet. You will make a strong ally."

She nodded, understanding that she had just been graced with a strong compliment, but feeling nothing.

"I will see myself out." He told her curtly, his lips curling in a taunting sneer. He drifted past her with barely a glance and, though he came quite near her, only the sleeve of his black robes brushed her arm - a faint flutter that sent the hair on the nape of her neck on end and goosebumps hissing up her arms.

* * *

****edited****


	34. May 1974: Nymphadora

"But does it really have to be-"

"Yes, it does!"

"But, Dromeda, come on, be-"

"No! It _has_ to be-"

"But no one will ever know how to-"

"She'll be fine, Ted!"

"But not even the nurse-"

"Healer,"

"Not even the Healer, then, knew-"

"She got it in the end-"

"After five minutes! Can't we just-"

"Ted! No!"

It took only one glance at Andromeda's face. Ted cringed and sighed submissively.

"Okay, okay," he appeased her. Her eyes widened from their previous position of dark slits, and the cold, stern line softened into a smile. She leaned over to kiss him lightly on the mouth. Then she settled comfortably once more against the pillows, staring proudly into the face of their daughter. Ted, too, stared at the tiny baby girl asleep peacefully in the arms of his wife. Her pale thin eyelids were closed over chocolate brown eyes, identical to her mother's, and the peach fuzz that topped her head, before a bright blue, was now an exquisite shade of yellow. She was clearly a special child, as Andromeda had pointed out, and in need of a name that matched her beauty and uniqueness. Ted hesitated visibly before asking meekly:

"We don't actually have to _call_ her that, though, right?"

To which Andromeda promptly shifted away from him, glaring into his face, clutching to her breast their baby girl, Nymphadora.

* * *

****edited****


	35. June 1974: Glass Ceiling

She walked into the dimly lit room in a stupor. He glided in front of her, a silent force that swept through the room and commanded the attention of the eight men in the room. She barely felt their curious stares and sneers, much like she barely felt the burn in her left forearm, no more than a dull sting now. She kept her eyes trained on him and ignored the others – for now.

_Bella waited for him in the living room, eyes staring out into nothing as she sat where he had lounged on their first meeting. Her back was rigid, black tresses tumbling down around her shoulders. There was a stillness in the air that calmed her and hushed her raging emotions. Rodolphus was absent for the moment and the quiet suited her just fine. The ancient house seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation, fearful of both the expected guest and the uncharacteristically calm demeanor of the mistress. Bella's rage had run dry, her anger spent, and her tears denied performance. His entrance was betrayed by the low click of the lock of the main door sliding back into its hold. Bella took a deep breath, reining in any loose emotions and shielding her mind before tilting her head up. There was no turning back now; the deed would be done._

Snickers rippled around the room at his words. What? _She_ become one of them? _She_, a woman, join as an equal in the ranks of men who sought power and recognition? What place did a woman have with such a group as they? Their words jabbed at her pride, and irritation prickled across her skin. She gnashed her teeth together and narrowed her eyes. Let them talk; she had beaten nearly all of them what felt like years ago. There was Antonin Dolohov, four years her senior but whom she out-witted at all but maneuvering a broomstick; Mr. Avery Senior, a middle-age man with a growing bald spot who was scrutinizing her with barely-hid condemnation; Yaxley, who was five years her senior but was terrible at Potions and mediocre at Transfiguration; Xavier Mulciber, who had enchanted many of the girls at Hogwarts but had not the cunning to win her in love or in a duel; Crabbe, who though quite large in physique had not nearly enough intelligence or skill to last any more than two and a half seconds with her at a duel; beside him, as always, was Lucius Malfoy, who was gazing at her intently with the most leering expression, gloating at the chance to finally see her fail; Rabastan Lestrange, her brother-in-law, whose curious eyes were the kindest of the group; and, in the back, none other than Rodolphus Lestrange, her husband, who was peering at her with disapproving brows.

They looked at her and saw a silent woman who would shy from danger, shy from duty. How wrong they were! The idea was preposterous, and she itched to prove them wrong. But she waited, silent and unmoving, waiting for the right moment to win her respect.

"_Your sister was never worth much anyways." His voice was slippery and smooth. On a weaker mind, it might have worked. But Bella was not weak. She felt the pull of magic as clearly as she heard his desire to sway her opinion._

"_Stay out of my head!" She hissed. His eyes flashed red, but she was too angry to care. "I said I would join you and your cause, but I will never turn against my sister."_

_He watched her with his red slits, saying nothing. Bella gazed back without flinching, her heart hammering painfully in her chest, less from fear than anger. What did it matter if he sifted through her mind? What did it matter if he tried going through her heart? Let him try; she had vowed to make herself stronger and seal off those emotions that made her tremble. She would not be weak anymore; she would not hurt anymore. She had locked the weakness away behind a stone vault that could not be broken into. And so she thought: let him try._

"My Lord," Lucius's voice carried loud throughout the room, pompous and cocky. He shot her a nasty sneer before continuing. "My Lord, why have you brought her here? Surely you do not wish to make her one of us? She is but a woman, after all." Murmurs of agreement met his words. Anger boiled within her and fingers twitched, begging to clamp around her wand. Yet she contained it, controlled herself, at last using the self-control her mother had always been trying to teach her.

"Yes, she is woman. And woman is, on most occasions, weaker than man. But perhaps you think I have committed a grand error in choosing this particular one?"

"No, my Lord," she smirked as she heard him stutter, his jab backfiring. "Of course not, I was simply pointing out to you-"

"What say you, Rodolphus? You live with her. Does she not have ability and strength? Does she not have the will to carry out that which must be done in order to return to the natural order of the wizarding world?" His voice was cool and bored, but Lucius shut his lips at once. She turned her head to meet the eyes of her husband. He frowned at her thoughtfully.

"She has what you are looking for, My Lord. I do not doubt her abilities or her skill; her intellect reflects the purity of her birth. Yet I cannot remain silent. I, too, must voice my doubts at allowing a female into this cause."

"Doubts," the man repeated quietly. "Let us resolve these doubts then, shall we. Draw your wands!"

"_Hold out your arm." His voice was soft, no more than a whisper, and it chilled her. Bella frowned, but complied, stepping towards him and extending her right arm, palm down. But he shook his head._

"_Not that arm. The other one – the left arm."_

_Slowly, she brought her right arm back to her side, extending in its place her left arm, palm down. He took her wrist between his thin fingers, and Bella was slightly surprised that the white skin was warm and not cold, as it appeared. He applied pressure to the inside of her wrist in order to flip it so that it faced palm up. She was calm as his fingers closed more tightly around her wrist; she was calm as he raised his wand and pointed the tip to the soft skin of her forearm; she was calm, even, as the curse slithered from his pale lips, which hardly moved at all. _

_But the calmness wavered as the smell of burning flesh and the searing pain ripped through her arm. She gasped aloud and involuntarily tried to pull back from his grasp. His fingers tightened once more, his wand pressed harder still into her skin. She hissed through her teeth as she felt it burning her arm. She gnashed her teeth together to keep from screaming and, though tears stung the back of her eyes, she refused to shut them or let the tears flow._

She was nimble, quick, and powerful. She had whipped out her wand and slashed it through the air before all of them had managed to pull back their robes. But quickly it turned to eight on one. She danced around the room, taking some and throwing many. She unleashed her fury at last and struck out at them with a vengeance. She hissed as a hex grazed her arm and threw herself into the duel once more. Adrenaline pounded through her; curses slipped from her tongue without thought. She did not know when it occurred, but soon satisfaction had crept its way into her bosom and curled around her soul. How wonderful it was to be in control at last! How wonderful it felt to wield her power to make them hurt! These men who had doubted her once would doubt her no more; she held power, and she would be the sole bearer of that power.

_Finally, the pain subsided. He withdrew his wand, and his pale fingers released their hold. Bella snatched her arm back, and turned it towards her to inspect the damage. There was no redness, as she had been expecting, no traces of having been burned. There was, however, a black figure etched into her forearm. By the light of the fire, and by the stark contrast of the black outline on her white skin, she identified the shape to be a skull with a snake slithering out from the mouth hole._

_The Dark Mark._

The nine stood panting, the men gazing at her warily. She had won; however much they would have liked to denied it, she had succeeded in fending off their attacks and keeping herself alive. The Dark Lord nodded with an emotionless expression, as if he had quite expected this.

"_And so you see, I was right. Lord Voldemort is always right."_

* * *

****edited****


	36. August 1974: Burning Black

No one was in the house. The sky had been looking ready to fall for several days, but the disappearing time to get things done had pushed all members to brave the chance of rain and to go about their chores. Uncle Orion was with Regulus at Diagon Alley, buying supplies for Hogwarts, while Aunt Walburga had gone off to visit a friend. As for Sirius, well, being sorted into Gryffindor sure was molding him into a nasty sort. He spent most of his time at the Potters, and their liberal ideas of society and politics were certainly rubbing off on him.

Kreacher allowed her in and happily went to prepare a cup of warm tea. She would not need it, however; she did not plan to stay for very long.

Bellatrix made her way to the spare room at the end of the back hallway. She knew what she would find in that room: the whole of Black ancestry strung across a large tapestry that filled the entire room. It was a tiny space, not nearly large enough to function as a bedroom or sitting room. Resembling a large broom closet, the room had been perfect to hold the lineage of Black. There was the familiar, musky scent to the room – she remembered it well.

She paid little attention to where she was going, and yet she became aware of standing exactly where she had to be. Had it really only been seven months ago since she had succeeded in her quandary? Had it really only been seven months since she had last entered this room? It had seemed so much longer. Yet her feet remembered the path well and took her to stand directly before the section of the tapestry that needed tending.

Cygnus's head was regal and unsmiling, gazing at her with intense dark eyes, a silver double line connected her father's avatar to that of her mother's. Her name, Druella, was written in perfect calligraphy beneath her head. A silver line stemmed from the double line that symbolized the legal marriage of Cygnus and Druella Black to connect three other heads: Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa.

Yes, it had taken her several attempts, but Bellatrix had finally succeeded in undoing her aunt's spell. Yes, she had at last been able to return Andromeda to the tapestry. Yes, she had acknowledged Andromeda to still be a part of the family – _her_ family.

But no longer.

Bellatrix pulled her wand out from her robes, eyes never straying from the icon that represented Andromeda's part in the family of Black. She had no right to belong to this family when she had turned her back on them all. She had no right to any inheritance when she had smeared her name and shamed her values. She had no right to Bellatrix's respect when she had left without a word, without a farewell. She had no right to Bella's love when she had abandoned her sisters in favor for a Mudblood.

The dark-haired woman lifted her wand and slashed it through the air, her insides roaring as she cut Andromeda from her life, removing any evidence or hope that she would return. Because she would not. The younger daughter had chosen, and it was time for the other two to acknowledge and accept it.

Walburga's spell had been strong but had eventually been undone. Bellatrix was stronger than her aunt; she knew that no one would be able to undo this final decision, this final tear in the relationship of the three sisters Black. When her Aunt Walburga had walked away from the room, her work had sizzled and burned brown.

Bellatrix's hissed and burned black.

* * *

****edited****


	37. December 1974: All That's Left

"No, Father, no!"

"You _will_ marry Lucius, Narcissa! It is my wish – nay, my command! I have been far too lenient. I will not see another daughter of mine go wrong again."

"Father, please! I do not wish to marry Lucius. I do not like him; I do not love him!"

"What care I for your love? The plan is set, Narcissa, I will hear no more against it. Not another word, I said!" Cygnus raised his voice as Narcissa opened her mouth to intercede. "The matter is closed, Narcissa. At the close of your Hogwarts education, you _will_ be wed to Lucius Malfoy." He turned around and headed towards the door: the discussion closed, he no longer saw need to keep the company of his distressed daughter. Narcissa, in a final attempt to make her father see reason, threw herself at him, clutching his arm and peering up into his face with despair.

"Then my happiness means nothing to you!"

Cygnus gazed down at his youngest daughter, holding her crystal blue eyes with his own beady ones. Contrary to the thickness of the air around them, his tone was gentle and pensive.

"You can make yourself happy or unhappy, as you see fit. There is no need to be upset, Narcissa. Lucius is a pleasant enough young man of a well-respected family who will treat you well. He will lavish you with all the tenders and sweetness you deserve. Do not create your own unhappiness; accept your fate, Narcissa, for it will not change. Then, you might find yourself in a comfortable position."

A tear trickled down Narcissa's cheek as she recognized defeat. She would not be as lucky as her sisters. She would not escape this end. She, the last, was bound to the promise her parents had made over Bellatrix's cradle, and nothing would sway her father.

She had lost.

"Release me now, Narcissa. There is no use my being here to see you in such a state. Compose yourself and then you may run along and do as you please for the remainder of the afternoon." His arm slipped gingerly out of her grasp, and within seconds he had disappeared from the room.

Yet she barely had a moment alone, for no sooner had Cygnus left than Bella crept in, looking murderous. Narcissa narrowed her eyes and quickly side-stepped away. She had hardly gone three steps towards the second door before Bellatrix grabbed her by the arm, twisting it.

"Ow! Get off of me, Bella!"

"What were you thinking, Cissy? What were you thinking, acting up like that?

Cissy ignored her question, trying to loosen her arm from Bella's grasp but in vain.

"Look at me, Cissy!"

"Let go of me!"

"Look at me, Cissy!"

"No! Let – me – go! No!" She accentuated each word with a tug but Bella kept a fast hold on her arm.

"Do you want to be disowned, Cissy? Do you want to be shunned from the family? Is that what you want?"

"No!"

"Then, what, Cissy? Why do you have to go and anger Father?"

"No!"

"You are such a baby, Cissy!"

Anger bit at her now and though her cheeks were stained with tears, Narcissa whirled around to face her older sister.

"You used to hate him! You used to despise him! Why do _I_ need to marry him?"

"It's going to occur regardless, Cissy! Make it easier on yourself. Just appease Father and accept him as your husband!"

"No!"

"Yes! You will!"

"I won't marry him, Bella! I _won't_! You and Droma hated him!

Bellatrix froze, looking very much as if Cissy had just slapped her. Narcissa's pale skin was turning a bright red where Bella's fingers tightened around her arm.

"Andromeda is _gone_, Cissy. She is not coming back." Bella's black eyes glared into Cissy's, but Cissy stared up defiantly.

"Yes, she is! She's our sister!"

"Not anymore!" Bella shoved Cissy away angrily, barely caring when Cissy rubbed where she held her too tight. "When are you going to grow up, Cissy? She's not coming back! She left us for a Mudblood!"

"She'll come back! She's our sister, she'll come back, Bella!"

"She's not my sister anymore!" Bella shouted. "Not anymore because she left! You're so stupid, Cissy, you could never accept anything! She's gone, ok? Gone! She's not coming back! Stop being such a baby and just fucking accept that already!"

Bella stood panting, nostrils flared angrily. Cissy was hugging herself, crying angrily.

"I hate you, Bella." She whispered. "I hate you! I wish you had left and Droma had stayed." With that she rushed out of the room to escape to her bedroom, where she would slam the door and lock it, accepting no visitors until the upcoming morning. Bellatrix, left alone in their father's library, crumpled to the floor, too proud to let the tears fall but too broken to face the world.

* * *

****edited****


	38. February 1975: Acceptance

All that morning, she had sat at her desk, attempting to put the mangled emotions in her heart into eloquent words scripted by a delicate hand. Thrice she had sealed the envelope and addressed it; twice she had called for her barn owl, only to send the creature back again; and once, only once, had she signed the bottom with "love you always". But each time, there had been something wrong: the words not accurate, the tone too accusing, the hand not legible. Although she had picked up the quill again and again, scribbling with increasing desperation as the morning wore on, she could not find satisfaction or relief that accompanies confession.

The words could not possibly, to any extent, express what she felt.

She sat staring out the window, feeling, for the first time, completely void of emotion. The frantic writing had drained her of all desperation, angst, and sorrow. She sat there staring out the window for a while, poised regally but unmoving, like a fair statue. When she finally stirred, it was only to glance momentarily at the piece of parchment in her hand, the one that signed her love. She blinked once, twice, thrice, before folding it carefully and dropping it into the white bin by her feet. As it fluttered to join the others, she rose to her feet and floated from the room, leaving her discarded handiwork at the bottom of the bin, letters that held all the words that were left unsaid.

* * *

****edited****


	39. May 1975: A Perfect Afternoon

Andromeda lounged comfortably on the couch, her legs stretched out before her, a book in hand. She had been attempting to finish reading chapter 23 for almost half an hour now but every time she tried anew to read the paragraph and absorb the meaning of the words she was distracted by a far more pleasing scene.

Balls and plastic baby Muggle toys littered the floor. An upturned blue bowl of Cheerios (Muggle food made of grain, crunchy, and shaped into an "o") was on the floor beside a rocking unicorn that would rock itself when it felt the weight of a child. A set of large, colourful plastic keys was poking out from underneath the sofa, where several other toys had vanished. Rattles, rings, and building blocks, all enchanted so that they would harm none, turned the cream coloured, carpeted floor into a rainbow mosaic.

In the center of all the chaos was Ted, lying on his back and laughing loudly as Nymphadora, her hair a bright magenta, attempted to climb over his person. He was holding a stuffed dragon just out of her reach, the white puffs of mist steaming from its nostrils captivating her attention. Ted gave it a little shake, so that its wings would flap, and the movement made Nymphadora's eyes grow larger and attempt to grasp at it with renewed determination. She planted both hands on Ted's chest and pushed herself up onto short, shaky legs. She took one wobbly step, then another – right onto Ted's stomach. The impact of the tiny foot on his belly made him laugh, a giant body-shaking laugh, and suddenly she was down again. Her chubby hands landed right on his face, making them both start laughing again.

"Dowa. Dowa! Loo, loo wha's ower hewe." Ted mumbled around her hand over his mouth. He jiggled the dragon again, trying to catch her attention once more. Nymphadora, however, was currently fascinated with something on Ted's face; something that protruded from the middle; something that was perfect to reach out and –

"OW! Dora, that's my nose! Agh! Gotcha!" Ted grasped her from under the arms and tossed her into the air, grinning as she cooed and laughed and kicked out her limbs.

Andromeda placed the thin marker within the book before setting it aside. The end of the novel would have to wait, she thought with a content sigh. Today, she would just have to settle for watching her husband play with their year-old daughter.

She smiled: there was no better way to spend a summer afternoon.

* * *

****edited****


	40. April 1976: Sapphires and Silver

"_What do _you _want? Come to gloat?"_

The words are so cold they stop him in his tracks. He looks at her and she glares back and suddenly he cannot remember why he wanted to hurt her so. Where is the raised chin of supremacy, the cool tone of hauteur and easy stance of cockiness? Where are the dark curls, the black eyes that look down upon one, the sharp tongue that lashes out without constraint?

He had come searching for a Black, one that fit the schema he had built several years ago. He has found, instead, a beautiful pale creature looking wary and upset. Though it was dark, he catches a hint of the tear that rolls down her cheek, the lights from the ballroom within bouncing off of it as it would a diamond. He is suddenly disconcerted as he regrets his initial intents; he had indeed come to gloat but that was because he had assumed that the youngest daughter of Black had matured into the same arrogant, reckless, and inconsiderate character as her two older sisters. This sister has long blonde hair, soft curvature of the chin and cheeks, and eyes that sparkle with an icy blue intensity, sapphires blazing into his silver with mistrust and irritation and hurt.

Something knots in his stomach to recognize that last emotion, even more so when he realizes that nothing about her composure reveals it; it is just her eyes, a tiny window to the pain hidden beneath the quiet demeanor and soft beauty. It pains him to know it, and it pains him to know that he had come looking to exploit that hurt.

He takes a few tentative steps towards her. She stiffens and narrows her eyes suspiciously but makes no move to reach for her wand or physically assault him. Cautiously, he closes the distance between himself and this frail beauty, praying that she would not flee. He comes to stand beside her. He offers his condolences: he is sorry for the loss, for the disgrace, for the hurt. She turns her whole body away from him, eyes gazing down and away, hands pressed against the balcony rail as she leans her body away from him. He frowns, regretting ever having trespassed her tiny sanctuary, raking his mind to find some way to mend this wrong, to relieve his guilty conscience by alleviating her pain. He can find nothing to say to her, however, and so settles, for the time being, to lean against the balcony rail beside her.

The clock strikes twelve, midnight, alerting the guests of the party that the eleventh of April, the day of her birth, had arrived. The band strikes up a lively song and friends and relatives shout her name, searching for the guest of honor. She pays them little heed, showing no intentions of returning into the warm room from her position against the rail beside him. Her head lifts but her blue gaze still evades his silver one.

Something makes his hand reach out to brush her skin. Lightly, delicately, his fingers kiss her skin, which quickly peppers with goose bumps. She turns her head to look at him upon the touch and for a moment, just a moment, sapphire locks with silver and time stops. She says nothing; he says nothing. Nevertheless, something passes between those two gazes and the tension eased somehow as each accepted that there is no possible threat from the other's presence. She sighs, he exhales, both quietly content, as if the ringing of the bells had brought about a new beginning.

He quickly regains his composure and holds out a hand, palm up – an invitation, a request, a plead. She blinks at it, hesitating, but then she slips a small pale hand in his and allows him to waltz her around balcony. Their eyes meet and the world disappears, the blare of the party within the mansion fades away: held together by the rhythm, it is just sapphire and silver under that dark night sky.

* * *

****edited****


	41. August 1976: Chance Meeting

"Cati!" Narcissa laughed, scurrying after her friend. "Wait! _Wait_!"

Catarina stopped running towards the store but continued to hop in place, motioning to Narcissa impatiently around two large books she had cradled in her arms.

"Come _on_, Cissa! I have been waiting for this moment all summer!" She took Narcissa's hand and half pulled her in through the large doors of Flourish & Blotts.

The bookshop was packed with witches and wizards of various ages. A banner hanging overhead explained why: Lachlan Blackband, a famous and exceedingly handsome player on The Pride Quidditch team, had written two books about Quidditch and just sports in general, and he was here today to give his autograph, answer questions, pose for pictures, and sign books.

"Oh, I am so excited! I cannot believe I am finally going to meet Lachlan Blackband!" Catarina squealed.

"Should I have the fainting spells at the ready or are you going to be able to compose yourself?" Narcissa teased. Catarina gave her a dark look.

"You may not understand the beauty of Quidditch, Cissa, but I do. If I knew you were going to be a hindrance, I would have asked someone else to accompany me."

"I am only teasing, Cati! You know I support you one hundred percent. Who else would go to all of your Quidditch games?"

"The rest of the school," she retorted.

"True, but they would not be cheering for you in particular. Besides, I may not see the beauty of the sport but I can definitely appreciate the beauty of _him_." Narcissa grinned, pointing to where, between a group of witches, she could make out the long golden table at the back of the store where Blackband was sitting, smiling as he scribbled his name into the pages of the book that some young boy had offered him eagerly.

"Oh, he is delicious," Catarina breathed. "Let's get in the line, Cissa! Come on, come on!"

Narcissa laughed at her eagerness and allowed Catarina to lead her to the middle of the queue, cutting in front of a group of chatting rising-third-year Hufflepuffs. She greeted them all by name, smiling and making a comment or two on the weather or the status of their summers. They answered reluctantly, glaring at her bitterly, looking very much as if they would like to protest but knew better than to create problems with a school prefect, even when school was out. When Catarina was done with small talk, she turned her back on the younger witches to bring up a far more interesting topic with Narcissa.

"Did you hear about the Weasleys? The Prewett girl finally had that baby – another boy."

"Merlin! I thought she was done after the second. As if she needs the weight a child brings. Well, I hope this is the last; three is a handful and I know from my father that neither one makes good money. I am not very sure what it is that _she_ does-"

"Besides making babies, you mean?" Catarina laughed. Narcissa smirked.

"Shall we assume that she is just a common house witch then? Either way, her husband enjoys tinkering with Muggle rubbish – as if that is any respectable way to make a living." Narcissa wrinkled her nose, as if the thought itself disgusted her.

"I was thirteen when I found out that Weasleys were pureblood." Catarina informed her, tucking the books under an arm in order to turn up a hand to inspect her nails. "Remember how I went over to your house to spend the Easter break with you that year? One of those days we went to visit your Aunt Walburga. I did not mean to snoop but Blacks have such huge houses and I wanted to find a mystery room with a secret passage or something – do not look at me like that, I was young! Anyhow, I was wandering around when I came upon this small little room at the end of this long corridor, very out of the way and – oh, well you know which one I am referring to…"

But Narcissa was no longer paying attention to her friend, for the crowd behind her had shifted and a glimpse of pale yellow hair had grabbed her attention. Instantly, she recognized Lucius Malfoy. She watched him as he scanned the titles of the books lined up on the shelf, his finger trailing over the bindings. He wore a bored expression on his face as he listened to his friend, who she also recognized. She watched him as one would a stranger in the park.

Then suddenly he glanced up, and their eyes met. She froze, unable to tear her gaze away. He recognized her immediately and blinked in surprise, his index finger still resting on a book binding. Narcissa could feel the warmth rising into her cheeks as she wondered what to do: she did not think looking away at this point would be very polite but what in Merlin's name was she supposed to say to the man whom her sisters despised and to whom she was promised?

"Cissa? Are you even listening to me anymore? Cissa, what is it?" Catarina's annoyance brought Narcissa's gaze back around.

"Look," Narcissa whispered, gesturing slightly for her brunette friend to turn around. Frowning, Catarina turned her head over her shoulder, and her mouth formed an "O" when she found the source of Narcissa's change of emotion. Narcissa watched as Lucius tapped his friend and indicated in the girls' direction, and her heart began to beat a little faster.

Catarina glanced at Cissa from the corner of her eye.

"Is there something I should know before he and Yaxley make it over here?" She asked in a hushed voice. "I thought you hated him."

"I did. I do! I told you the stories Bella would tell me."

"Yes, but you are also about to be betrothed to him, are you not?"

"I am working on changing that." Narcissa snapped.

"Well, then, would you like to explain to me why Lucius Malfoy is making his way over here to come say hello to you?"

"I do not know!" She answered, slightly unnerved. "We talked at my birthday party but that is it and it was two months ago! Oh, and we danced a little. What am I supposed to say to him, Cati?" Narcissa turned to Catarina, wide-eyed, heart thumping as panic crept into her stomach. Catarina shook her head.

"You are asking _me_? If the two of you are not formally talking then why-"

But she cut off at Narcissa's low hiss, understanding that Lucius Malfoy and Acanthus Yaxley were now within earshot. Even from a distance, Narcissa could tell that Lucius was finely dressed; up close, not only could she tell that his robes were made entirely of silk but she could also detect the finest trace of cologne, something that made her want to lean in and breath him in all day.

His silver eyes locked with hers, making her heart skip a beat and her mouth go dry.

"Good day, Miss Black, Miss Avery. I did not expect to find the two of you here today when it is so crowded."

"We are here to get Lachlan Blackband's autograph." Catarina supplied, to Narcissa's relief. "This is the only day he will be in London and Cissa agreed to accompany me."

"Are you not a fan of Quidditch, then, Miss Black?" Lucius turned his eyes to the blonde witch before him, and Narcissa thought she saw a hint of a tug at his lips. Somehow she managed to answer him without tripping over her words.

"I do not enjoy playing it but I do not mind watching the sport. It can be entertaining, though I must admit that I will never sit for more than a couple of hours at a time to watch a single match."

His silver eyes smiled into hers, and she wondered how he did not feel as uncomfortable and awkward standing there before her as she felt before him.

"I am afraid Yaxley here would disagree with you. He is a Quidditch fan to the core. Do you know Yaxley?" Lucius waved a hand towards his friend yet his silver eyes only left Narcissa's face to politely flick to Catarina. "This is my friend Acanthus Yaxley. Yaxley, this is Miss Catarina Avery and Miss Narcissa Black."

Acanthus Yaxley gave her a wide grin and reached over to take her hand and kiss it. Narcissa smiled politely and mumbled a short greeting; Catarina, on the other hand, met him with a twisted grin.

"Ah, I know you!" He laughed. "You gave me quite a bit of trouble on the Quidditch pitch during my last year at Hogwarts. Tell me, are you still playing on the Slytherin team as Chaser?"

"How are your parents?" Lucius' question spared Narcissa from having to listen in to a conversation on Quidditch between the old team captain and the new one.

"They are well, thank you. Relieved, I think, for me to be finishing Hogwarts."

"That's right; this coming year is your...seventh year, isn't it?"

Narcissa nodded, wrapping her arms around her waist so that they would not hang limply at her sides. She could not fathom why she was so uneasy with him now or why her heart was thumping the way it currently was.

They made small talk: her health, her plans for the summer, her academic plans for the future. Sometime during the conversation, he was jostled closer to her, and the cologne he was wearing filled her nose once more, stronger this time. He smelled good, like a man, and his eyes, gleaming silver, seemed to go on forever; it made her eyes flutter, her heart twirl, and her head felt so fuzzy that she had no idea where their conversation was going. Yet she managed to form the words and make sense of her responses, enough that he did not appear confused by any response she gave.

"Well, I am afraid we must be off." He announced finally, looking away from her to turn to his friend, who nodded in agreement. "It was very nice to see you once more, Miss Avery." He nodded his head in her direction before turning his silver eyes upon Narcissa once more. For a split second, she thought he was going to lean forward, and her heart leaped to her throat when the thought of his lips on hers jumped into her mind. She gazed at him expectantly, nervously; but he merely swallowed hard before tipping his head to her as well.

"Good day, Miss Black."

Then he navigated his way through the thick crowd of chattering wizards and witches, Yaxley following. Narcissa twisted her body to watch his back retreat until he exited the book store and was lost from her sight.

She turned back to Catarina, breathing a sigh of relief, only to narrow her eyes at her friend's expression: a sly little smirk.

"What?" Narcissa demanded.

"Oh, nothing, dear. It's just that Lucius Malfoy is very handsome – wouldn't you agree?"

* * *

****edited****


	42. September 1976: In Perfect Harmony

He watched her as she chatted animatedly about her plans concerning her final year at Hogwarts. Her blue eyes sparkled in excitement as she related to him the list of dances, concerts, dinners, parties, and ceremonies she would attend. Her thin pale hands fluttered above the table, placing physical emphasis on this dance or that concert. She would laugh, a high tinkering sound, before leaning forward to delve into more detail about some event further into the year.

Lucius took a sip of his drink, eyes never leaving her form, even as she tossed her head to flip her pale hair behind her shoulders. He had grumbled quite a bit when he had learned earlier that week that his mother – a prying older woman who never knew when to leave well alone – had set up yet another meeting between Miss Narcissa Black and himself. Once again he had cursed her meddling character; once again he had vowed not to show up; once again he had appeased her by submitting to her demands.

And once again he had found that he could not deceive himself of the fact that meeting with her was far more pleasurable than it was embittering.

He thought he was saved when events turned disastrous between him and the first two Black daughters. Bellatrix and Andromeda were haughty, ambitious, and malicious. He had hated Bellatrix since they had met at the young age of nine. When he had met Andromeda on the first day of his first year at Hogwarts, she was not much different in looks or attitude, and the three quickly became sworn enemies. He stubbornly refused to take either of them as his wife; his mother tried in vain to coerce him into a marital agreement. He believed he was free to breathe when both girls were secured to other [unfortunate] men.

It appeared he had forgotten about the third and final Black daughter. Determined not to be wed to a Black, he had planned to persuade the youngest girl from agreeing to her parents' wishes by any means possible; considering the character of the two previous Blacks, he felt confident that it would not take much to demonstrate to her that he and a Black would never be compatible for anything more than a wizard's duel.

Yet at every encounter, he forgot she was a Black and fell for her charm.

Narcissa Black was young and naïve but courteous and refined. She had none of the loud, obnoxious, and spiteful character that marked her older sisters. She held none of the awkward and lanky features he recalled of the second-year who had trailed after her infamous older sisters. She was tall, thin, poised, elegant, and floated across the room with all the modest beauty of her mother. Lucius had never experienced this quality of Black, and so he observed her now in quiet, masked fascination.

"Oh!" She exclaimed suddenly, a small smile gracing her lips. "I love this song! Everyone at Hogwarts has a synchronized routine to this song; whenever we throw common room parties, we play it and everyone dances." She tapped a forefinger against her glass, bouncing her head to the beat of a song he did not know. She turned to look at him. "Are you going to ask me to dance?"

"I do not know how to dance to this."

"Well, it is very easy. Do you want to learn?"

"Only if you teach me." He replied smoothly. She smiled and slid out of her seat, positioning herself far enough away from their table to be able to go through the moves.

"Watch me." She instructed, and he did, only too happy to comply. He watched her as she moved her arms, swayed her hips, and tapped her feet in time to the beat. She hopped, twirled, and clapped, going through each of the steps with the fluidity of dancer. It did not matter that he had never once heard this song; by the end of the first chorus it had moved to the top of his favorite songs.

All too quickly, Narcissa let her arms drop to her side and approached him. She held his silver gaze steadily, expectantly, and it was then that Lucius realized that she had presented him a question. She pouted.

"You were not paying attention."

"No! No, I was, I was watching you." He smiled at her reassuringly, trying to ease the accusing glare, though perhaps without undoing the cute little pout on her lips. "I was watching you, Narcissa. How could I not? I just cannot learn something quite that intricate so quickly."

Narcissa lifted her chin, gazing down at him as if contemplating a thought.

"You are right. You cannot learn this by just watching. You must do it and practice until you learn it correctly." She took hold of his hands, and Lucius gave no protest or resistance when she tugged him out of his chair. Lucius, however, had no intentions of dancing the choreographed routine of teens and instead pulled her forwards, placing a hand on her hip and smirking when the touch brought a rosy warmth flooding into her cheeks.

She gave a high, nervous giggle, batting her eyelashes and lowering her gaze away from his face. For several measures, she attempted to gain control back or to pull away but eventually silver mixed with blue and she willingly allowed him to lead her to the end of their song.

* * *

****edited****


	43. October 1976: Love Story

He held the door open so that she could step out into the chilly autumn evening. She thanked him with a smile and paused so that he could fall into step beside her. They walked down the street, now no longer over-ridden with teens, side by side. He was so close to her that his fingers brushed against hers as they walked. She did not mind in the slightest, and though her skin erupted into tingles, she did not widen the distance between them and was glad when he did not shy away either.

"You will have to be heading back to the school now, won't you?" He asked her quietly.

"Yes. It is almost dark. We are allowed to miss dinner but are expected to be back at the castle well in time for-"

"Night check." He finished. She eyed him, somewhat testily, at being interrupted but he just smirked in return. "I went to Hogwarts, too, Narcissa."

"Ah, yes." She answered coolly. "How could I have forgotten? I particularly remember an arrogant Prefect in my second year who gave me my first detention. I spent three afternoons cleaning the Trophy Room – _without_ magic."

He laughed good naturedly at her expression.

"I do not remember that."

"I did not mean anything to you then." She pointed out.

"You still do not." He replied with an indifferent shrug. His comment would have irritated her if his large hand had not closed to play with her fingers. She tossed loose locks of blonder hair behind her shoulders, choosing not to respond with a tart comment of her own.

Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black walked in silence across Hogsmeade, fingers looped through each others', eyes bright, and each wearing identical tiny smiles. This was their first intentional meeting that was not planned and enforced upon them by their parents. As such, it was the first meeting that did not begin with large scowls and hostile glares shot from across a table. When Lucius had made reservations at one of the Hogsmeade restaurants, he had done so already knowing on which day the monthly Hogsmeade trip fell. He had fully intended to meet her for lunch, even if he had to take half a day from work to meet her. Narcissa had happily kissed her friends good-bye, giving Catarina a long and meaningful look, before following him in. Though they both tried to convince themselves that the meetings were nothing more than appeasement to nagging parents and good social image, it was becoming increasingly obvious that there was a growing fascination between the two.

"You need not walk me all the way to Hogwarts." Narcissa informed him as they turned onto the main road, well out of Hogsmeade now. "I suspect you are eager to return home."

"Nonsense, I won't have you walk all the way to the castle on your own, and you can hardly Apparate. I will take you as far as the entrance gate."

Narcissa gave a tiny smile of pleasure, not bothering to point out that while _she_ could not Apparate on her own yet, he most certainly could and save them the walk. She shivered slightly, a reaction that she quickly blamed on the cool breeze that had chosen that exact moment to blow through.

"Are you cold?" Lucius asked her in concern.

"I am fine, thank you." Narcissa replied honestly. "Just…" But she sealed her lips shut, blushing slightly.

"Just, what?" Lucius pressed, voice soft. Narcissa looked up at him from beneath her lashes and was quite irritated when she noted the small smirk that was curling the corners of his mouth. She looked pointedly away, pressing her lips together. Lucius gave a low chuckle, a sound that drew a dark look from Narcissa, who knew it to be a sound of self-satisfaction. She did not want her pleasure to be so obvious to him; she did not want to appear meek, submissive, _easy_. Curses! She just could not rid herself from the hyperawareness of his fingers holding hers, fingertips drawing light figure eights on the skin between her thumb and forefinger, around and around and around…

"The Secret Garden is hidden off somewhere in those woods." She informed him, shifting the focus off of her as she pointed far out to his left. Lucius looked out to where her finger indicated, frowning. He knew that the patch of trees stretching out on his left would eventually merge into the dense forest that bordered Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry but he had never heard of it being the origin of the tale of the Secret Garden.

"The Secret Garden? Isn't that the tale of a wizard who had a garden made as a memorial to his dead wife?"

"Oh, is that how it is referred to now?" Narcissa laughed. "I suppose that would make a quick synopsis but the whole story is much sweeter." She paused, not eager to tell him her favorite story if he was going to ridicule or shrug her off afterward. Lucius looked at her expectantly, silver eyes indicating that she continue with the full story. But Narcissa remained silent; he was going to have to make much more of an effort than that to elicit a response from her!

"Do you know the story?"

"Yes."

"Tell me."

She raised a delicate eyebrow, still denying him what he wished to know. Save for the law, Blacks, she reminded herself, were not commanded by anyone – not even handsome men with piercing eyes that sent her stomach fluttering.

Lucius sighed quietly and his face softened. When his spoke, his voice was soft.

"Please," he appeased her. Narcissa hid a smile, pleased with his submission to her unvoiced request. He appeared to have noticed it, however, for he stopped his mindless weaving of his fingers through hers and moved to grasp her hand more firmly, as if physical connection gave him possession of her. His hand was so large that it concealed hers almost completely; the warmth of it was pushed from the fingers it clasped up to her neck and cheeks. The firm, unabashed contact sent a wave of pleasure through her, and though she knew someone dear to her would be upset at her childish giddiness, she could not find a reasonable justification for why she should relinquish his hold on her.

"The Secret Garden," she began, "was created and hidden away as a symbol of love. The tale says that there was once a powerful wizard – never mind his name, it is not important – who became very wealthy at a young age. He was skilled with both the wand and potions; witches and wizards from all over the city would come to him for quick spells to faulty household items, poisons for cheating spouses, cures to epidemic illnesses. It was not long until word of his supernatural abilities spread throughout the land, and soon witches and wizards from all over the country were flocking to his house to witness his power and return home with the solution to their problems. As word spread, the young wizard gathered to his name more fame and more wealth. He was not a cruel man: he charged in accordance with what each customer could afford and was not opposed to barter.

"All who met him loved him, idolized him. Yet the wizard could not help but feel a sense of sadness. He was confused, you see: he had wealth, fame, his first choice of woman but he never felt accomplished, never completely satisfied with the way his life was going. He became overwhelmed by the heavy sense of loneliness and loss for he did not have anyone with whom to share the riches he had earned." Narcissa paused to moisten her lips and sneak a peek at the man walking beside her. To her surprise and glee, he was listening attentively, gazing down at her intently with those deep silver eyes. And so she continued.

"He was seven and twenty when his life changed. It was a summer afternoon, and he was sitting comfortably in his chair by the window when a knock sounded on the door. He sighed to himself and he grudgingly went to go answer it, for he expected another customer interested in his wares or a witch interested in his gold. And, indeed, he was right: it was a witch that stood at his doorway, a basket of flowers perched on her hip. Her name was Rose, and she had traveled for sev-"

"Ah, of course it was a witch. Let me guess, she was a charming and chaste little witch whose dreams would come true if he married her." Lucius interrupted her with a bitter drawl.

"Sh! Let me finish. Do not judge her just yet. As I was saying, her name was Rose, and she had traveled for several miles in search of an antidote to a rare illness that her father had developed and had stopped to see the wizard after hearing of his gift. The wizard, of course, knew of a potion that would cure her father of the illness and silently ushered her inside. As he gathered the ingredients to the potion, she asked him questions about the town and his work to fill the silence. Yet the polite questions quickly turned into genuine interest, and by the time the potion was complete, the wizard was intrigued by this woman. Eager to see her again, he gave her a lie that would insure her return the following day: the potion had to brew for a full night before reaching its full effectiveness.

"His lie achieved the intended effect. The next day, the witch was once more knocking on his door, early in the morning. Though he was beside himself with happiness, he feared the ever-approaching moment when her business here would be done and she would leave. And so he told her another lie: the potion needed one more night to sit and fully blend before it could be portioned into a bottle. She agreed to wait one more night and accepted his offer to assist him with other requests. To his delight, she was a wonderful herbologist and had an herbal remedy for almost every problem that arrived at his door. The more he spoke with her, the more he found that he enjoyed her company, for she was both a good-natured and educated woman, with an opinion to everything from art to politics. It appeared as if she, too, enjoyed his presence in return. The wizard and witch spent the entire day together, parting ways only when the sun went down and he was forced to return to his house and leave her at the comfortable inn at which she was staying.

"On the third day, the wizard woke up ill at heart, for he realized that he had fallen in love with the stranger and yet could no longer ask for another night on the potion's part. It was with a heavy heart that he asked her with what she had intended to pay the potion with. It was then that the witch presented her basket of flowers, which she had picked and strung into beautiful chains. She asked him if a basket of these necklaces would suffice. The wizard stared quietly at the chains of flowers, marveling at the beauty of her work. But when he spoke, it was to reject her offer as unacceptable.

"Dejected, the witch asked what would be an acceptable payment for the potion that could very well save her father's life. After a moment's hesitation, the wizard replied: 'this potion will make your father complete. In return, I believe you should make my life complete. Marry me, Rose.'

"The witch, though quite surprised at his proposal, could only smile happily, for she too had fallen in love with him. She picked up the bottle of the potion that had created love and would renew her father and promised to return. And she did; when he father returned to his proper health, the two traveled back to the wizard with the extraordinary magic and sealed their love in matrimony. That night, after the guests had left and it was just the two of them, he took her to the nearby woods, to where he had created, by wand and hand, a gift that was as beautiful as she and the love he felt towards her.

"It was a large garden, filled with all the flowers that had made up the long chains she had been intended as payment on their first meeting: apple blossoms, baby's breaths, asters, camellias, daisies, snow drops, sweet peas, and mimosas. And in the very center of the garden, speckled in a beautiful display of reds, pinks, whites, and yellows, was a bundle of rosebushes, each sporting over a dozen roses.

"The garden was open to anyone with a light heart, though most often visited by couples who felt the beauty of true love. Soon, the garden grew to include Mason's Marigold, Caius' Zinnia, Aurelius' Violet, Xavier's Veronica, Atticus' Jasmine, and Tristan's Iris. As the years passed, the garden grew, marking the love of each man who planted a flower for his darling, and the love of a man who had before known only loss and emptiness.

"Alas, all good things must come to and end, and after 7 and twenty years of blissful love, Rose fell prey to a severe illness. Not one of the powerful wizard's potions, spells, or remedies could cure her of her illness and in three days death claimed her as his own. Overrun with grief, the wizard concealed the garden he had made for his beloved wife behind layers of powerful enchantments. The wizard drew a large, wrought-iron gate around the garden and locked it, hiding the key somewhere within the plants and herbs so loved by his Rose, for he felt that only he who had unlocked the power of love could deserve to unlock the secret of the garden. And though many searched and searched for the key to the garden, none have been able to unlock the gate and discover the secret within."

Narcissa blinked at the looming gates; they had arrived at Hogwarts. She gave a nervous titter as she pulled her hand out from his, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, aware that his silver eyes had not once drifted from her face. She gazed up at him shyly, wondering if she did not get carried a bit away when telling him this story.

"That was your favorite story as a child, wasn't it?" Lucius asked quietly. "And still is today?"

She was thankful for the darkness that hid the rush of warmth to her cheeks.

"I think it is a wonderful tale." She said defensively. He chuckled softly.

"I did not say that it wasn't."

For a moment, they remained as they were, Narcissa with one hand reaching behind her to touch an iron bar of the gate, Lucius leaning towards her. Their eyes met, silver and blue, neither one wanting to be the first to look away. Her stomach danced wildly, her heart thumped heavily, and her skin erupted into little prickles again.

"Well, I must be going in. I would not want to receive detention because I was out after hours."

"Are you not in your seventh year?"

"I am but the rules are still applicable to me."

He chuckled again and Narcissa had the distinct impression that he did not mind the rules quite as closely as she did.

"Then I leave you." He closed the distance between them and again a vision of his lips on hers sprang into her mind, and she wondered how he would feel, what he would taste like. Heart hammering, she blinked the vision away to meet his gaze behind a mask of calm and poised elegance. His hand reached for hers, took it, and lifted it. The moment his lips brushed against the back of her hand, her heart skipped a beat and her skin hummed.

"Good night, Narcissa."

She dipped her head, grasping the iron gates more firmly to steady herself.

"Good night, Lucius."

She pulled her hand from his grasp, for he still held her fingers in his hand, and she thought she saw disappointment flicker across his features. But it was just as quickly tamed into the polite expression of interest one must always wear, and besides, she was already slipping in through the gates and making her way back up to the school, keeping her eyes firmly on the castle before her. She kept her steady and calm walk all the way to the stone castle doors, lest he still be watching her. It was not until she was inside the castle, door closed behind her, when she was absolutely sure that he could not see her and no one else was around, that she broke out into a broad, gleeful smile and skipped the rest of the way to the Slytherin common room.

* * *

****edited****


	44. November 1976: Abandoning Pity

Bellatrix was focused so intently on the pair of cloaked figures racing away in front of her that she did not even realize the cold that evening had brought. Her legs moaned, not used to having to run so fast over such hard ground, but she paid little heed to their protests. At that moment, she was a lioness focused on her prey, fully aware that she had to get to them before they got to the oak tree that marked to outer boundaries of the property. Once past that tree, they would no longer be kept here by the enchantments of the house; they would be free to Disapparate, and then she would have lost them.

"Bella," panted the man beside her. The black-haired woman did not even spare him a glance but she knew well enough that it was Evan Rosier. "Bellatrix, we can't….can't let them…get to…."

"I know!" She snapped before kicking her legs harder, ignoring her aching muscles as she pumped herself forward.

They had been hitting houses and safe-houses of the revolutionaries all week. Many belonged to the largest and most active revolutionary organization, the Order of thePhoenix. Outspoken and quickly growing in numbers, they put up a good fight. Many were Aurors or freshly graduated students – a good mixture of those who knew advanced spells and those who had the enthusiasm to revolt against the changing regime.

A green streak of light blazed past the escaping pair. The younger slowed, glancing behind him, and Bellatrix could see the anger in his face, the adrenaline pumping through him. Yes! She thought. Turn around and fight! Stop being such a coward, come on and take a shot! All I need is for you to slow down a little bit, just a little bit…

That was the greatest thing about the young ones – their predictability. The young man paused to turn about, outrage contorting his features. Bellatrix leaped forward as he placed a hand within his robes, drawing out his wand, aiming the tip directly at her. He took a breath, opened his mouth, not the slightest bit aware that in the split second it would take him to lift his wand, the curse would have already have slipped from Bellatrix's tongue and he would be gone.

A calloused hand grabbed the boy's robes and hauled him along just in time to save him from Bella's curse; the purple streak hit a tree instead, cracking it in two.

"Frank, I promisedAlicethat I would return her husband in one piece tonight! If you want a death sentence, you can write it tomorrow." The rough voice did not break despite the extra weight.

"Come on, Mad-Eye! You can't expect me to take her lying do-"

"Longbottom!" The sharp reprimand silenced the man and sent him running on his own again.

They were close to the edge now. In desperation, Evan fired three rounds of darks spells but his bouncy gait off-set his aim and all three missed. Bellatrix's one shot nearly hit the boy in the back but Mad-Eye countered it. Each step they took brought them closer and closer to the boundary. Bellatrix ran harder, blazing forwards. She _had_ to get to them! She could not let them escape!

They were almost to the oak tree…at the oak tree…past the oak tree…

Then, with two resounding cracks, they were gone.

"Shit!" Bella cried angrily, and slashed her wand across the air, causing a tree to erupt into flames. She hated losing a target. The Dark Lord would not be pleased but she was not afraid of him; he appeared reluctant to do any real harm to her. To Bella, losing a target was like answering a question wrong or losing a race; it was failure. And Bella _hated _failure.

"Calm yourself, Lestrange." Evan addressed her calmly, hands on his knees as he attempted to regain his regular breathing. "Moody has been evading capture for weeks; he's a tricky one, that man. It's no wonder he's one of Dumbledore's favorites."

Bella gazed at him coldly, not nearly as placated by this excuse as he was. Instead, she continued to pace, restless as she listened to the shouts coming from the house behind them, peering into the darkness as she waited, waited, for the old man to reappear.

A loud bang pierced the air, startling her from her pacing. Red sparks were spewing from the chimney that stood regally atop of the roof. Evan frowned.

"It looks as if they could use a hand. Let's go, Bellatrix."

"And what if he returns?" She demanded.

"He won't, not tonight. He would be a fool to return when he knows we are here. He'll think we are waiting for him."

"He won't just hide in a corner and wait for us to get him, Rosier! When he comes, he will come with reinforcements. _I _say we wait here for his return!" She argued. Evan sighed in irritated defeat when he caught a glimpse of her stubborn expression – there would be no arguing with her.

"Do as you wish, Bellatrix, but I am going to return to the house and help out the others. Just in case you have forgotten, you have a husband who is fighting for his life down there; it might be in your best interest to go and help him."

"Rodolphus can take care of himself." She informed him shortly, already back to scanning the territory intently for any signs of movement. Evan shrugged, shaking his head in disbelief as he turned away.

"Well I am glad you are not _my_ wife." He muttered darkly.

"As am I!" She snapped, so venomously that he winced at her tone. But he did not glance back or hesitate in his return to the house, and soon Bella was left alone in the darkness.

She continued to pace just inside the security boundaries of the house, vigilant of her surroundings and the main road. She could not clearly see the main road, which she knew cut across just a few strides away from the large oak tree, but was sure that, should anyone appear on that road for any reason, she would be able to stun the passerby. And she _knew_, despite what Evan Rosier thought, that he would return. Alastor Moody was too valiant to flee from a fight, even if he was needed to tie down a foolish overgrown school boy.

All was calm but she remained alert. No falling leaf escaped her notice, no bird or lizard was left unchecked. So when the pants and heavy footfalls reached her ears, it was not the figure stumbling out of the shaded area that shocked her into immobility but the name with which he called out to her.

"Andromeda! Andromeda, we need to get out of here and get help. Gideon is hurt, that tall bloke got him – Dolohov's his name, I think. Andromeda, what's wrong? Androme-"

All of a sudden he froze. His feet no longer carried him towards the curly-haired woman glaring at him venomously. His eyes widened into large circles and the colour drained from his face. He took an unconscious step back, intimidated by the heavily-lidded eyes that were too cold, the cascading curls that were too dark even in the darkness.

He had realized his mistake.

Bellatrix hissed, and the air crackled. So _this_ was the company her sister was keeping? She recognized the man instantly: auburn hair, light freckles dusted across his nose, worried about a Gideon – it was Fabian Prewett, the younger of the two Prewett brothers. A pure-blood who had set himself against the rising regime, a pure-blood who had set himself against his people – against his _blood_ – to fight alongside the Muggles and Mudbloods. It was filth like _this_ that her sister chose to replace her with?

A shaking hand gripped his wand tighter, bringing it in front of his chest, a warning, a precaution, protection against the lioness that had not yet struck out its lethal blow. Bellatrix noticed only enough to momentarily scoff at his petty attempt to shield himself; a mere wooden stick would not protect him from her anger, once unleashed. Andromeda, at least, had known _that_ much.

"What did you just call me?" She whispered, in a tone so icy the trees seemed to shiver. She has not moved an inch from where she had stopped, though her dark eyes never once left his face as he began his slow retreat backwards. His eyes darted from side to side, trying to find an escape. He opened his mouth, hesitated, but upon finding no response, laughed nervously.

That laugh – a little titter, high pitched with anxiety. It lit her chest on fire and sent her lunging with fire.

"_Never_!" Bella hissed, slashing at him with her wand. He doubled forwards, clutching at his stomach and stumbling backwards as she strode towards him. "Mistake the two of us _again_!" He aimed a spell at her face but she blocked it easily, disarming him and sending him gasping to the floor in one motion. Anger was clawing at her chest, consuming her. It was such a trivial offense, one that had never before elicited any negative response from her, one that had been made over and over and over again before her years at Hogwarts and more so during them, when there was no distinction between black and brown, when to address one was to address the other.

Wasn't it enough that she had had to go through the pain of having a part of herself brutally severed? Wasn't it enough to know that that severed half had left freely, happily, of her own free will, had made the choice on her own? Wasn't it enough to know that midnighttalks of secret fears and guilty pleasures, sold with so much love and adoration, had been tossed in the trash without so much as a second glance. Had they not laughed at this boy, all those years ago? Had they not mocked him and scoffed his resolve to court a _Muggle_ girl?

And yet here he was, calling on her, mistaking the woman before him for the woman who would have – should have – been by her side to fight _alongside_ her in this battle. The thought enraged her. Her wand moved on its own accord; with each jab Fabian Prewett yelped as if stung, cringing against the sharp pain as he backed away from the heavy-lidded woman towering over him.

"Tell me where she is!" Bellatrix demanded loudly. She could feel the fear rolling off of him, could taste his panic even as his lips sealed themselves shut. The creature within her roared. Let him try to keep it from her! She would pry his lips open and take every last piece of information from him by force!

Her wand cut downward as she released her fury on him relentlessly. His scream mingled with her screams, pain and anger indistinguishable in the air. Defenseless, he could only bury his head in his arms and pray for her to use up all of her energy source. Yet his determination to hold the information from her fed her anger and kept her wand cracking through the air; the new tricks she had learned from her master allowed for a different curse and combination each time.

"Tell me where she is staying!" She screamed for the seventh time. What was the point of his pleads if he was not willing to do this one thing in order to make the pain go away? She spat at him as she walked away from his trembling form crumpled on the dirt. She was disgusted with him, disgusted with the one she sought, disgusted with herself for not succeeding in getting the man to talk. She felt weak, and she hated that. This was why she had to let go of emotional connections. This was why it was dangerous to care about anyone or anything.

_This_ was why she endured the scrutiny and brutality of the teaching of the Dark Lord, so that she may never be weak again.

A loud bang shot through the night as a blaze of flames roared into the air. A fiery glow was cast around over the grounds as the house was consumed by flames. Bellatrix watched as figures, Death Eaters and rebels alike, swarmed from the house. It was then that Bella knew how to extract Andromeda's whereabouts from him.

She doubled back to him, lunging to beat him to his discarded wand. She kicked it away before slamming a foot onto his broken arm; he yelled in agony. She waited for his pants to quiet down before speaking.

"Tell me where Andromeda is," she began in a tone that was near gentle.

"You mean your sister?" Fabian gasped weakly. Bellatrix responded to his jab with a twisted smile.

"Mm, yes. Or I go after your brother and kill him myself." The threat hung suspended in the air, and for several seconds Fabian ceased to make any movement or noise.

"You can't kill him." He spoke finally. "You haven't killed me yet. You probably have no clue how to even – agh!" He broke off as Bellatrix applied weight to his broken arm. She laughed dryly.

"I can bring him up here if you'd like. It would be great – just us three. And you can watch as I torture him, and know that every second you spend in silence is another second he spends in complete and utter agony."

For a long time he said nothing, but Bellatrix knew that his wall of endurance was tumbling down, brick by brick.

"You are a cruel and vile woman, you know that Bellatrix?" he croaked finally. She sneered.

"No, Fabian. What _she_ did to _me_ was cruel and vile. Now, tell me!"

He hesitated but a light tap of her foot on his arm brought the information reluctantly from his lips.

"She's at home, with Ted and Dora. She did not want him coming with us today because Dora's been giving her some trouble."

"_Where_?" Bellatrix hissed. A look of anguish crossed his features but a threatening glance towards the burning house brought an immediate answer.

"Ted's house is inBristol. They live onKemperleye Way, third house onBlackthorn Drive.

"Muggles?"

"Can see them, know them. Ted refused to have the house hidden with a bunch of enchantments."

Bellatrix stalked off towards the large oak tree. His pants and muffled cries followed her all the way there. She felt no pity for him; she had received none when Andromeda had abandoned her. She could hear his struggle to reach his wand, to grasp it and send a hex hurtling at her back. But she had already Disapparated before his fingers had finished curling around the familiar wood.

She appeared with a light _pop!_ onKemperleye Way. The few streetlights lining the street cast an eerie glow around her; one quick look around told her that no one was about and, therefore, she had no need to worry. The woman broke out into a very confident and quick pace upKemperleye Way, turning onto the street that was labeled "Blackthorn Drive" by a white corner stone.

Her chest tightened with anxiety and anticipation as she recognized Andromeda's decorating style immediately: the perfectly cut lawn, the finely trimmed hedges, the ivy that grew with the house rather than strangling it, and a marble fountain with a water nymph carved into it. Andromeda's was the only house on the block that was absolutely symmetrical in décor and probably the only one in the county that did not have a single garden gnome.

The curtains were drawn, giving Bellatrix a clear view into the world. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, anxious about what she might find within, anxious about what she might not find. It had been two years and five months – no, more than that, for November was coming to an end now – since she had last laid eyes on the girl with whom she used to share brushes, boys, dresses, dreams, sicknesses, secrets. A part of her, that part she had shoved aside all that time ago, fretted if too much time had passed to be able to recognize that girl. But as she always did, Bellatrix ignored that deepest part of herself, defied the throbbing of her heart and moved to a position such that she could clearly see into the room.

The figure was curled up on a recliner, reading underneath some odd looking object that seemed to be emitting light from its bell-shaped head. The recliner was angled in such a way that Bellatrix could not clearly see the figure, but she was almost positive that it was a woman.

A man walked into the room then, a care-free smile on his face, and suddenly the lightness that had filled Bellatrix turned into a heavy and bitter darkness. He had no worries, no fears. He just threw the tiny toddler into the air, catching it in his arms securely again before bringing it down to his lips for a kiss. The toddler laughed visibly, clapping its hands over its head in pure delight. The woman who had been reading in the corner had by now placed the book on a nearby table in favor to lean forward and hold out her arms before her, gesturing for the toddler to come to her. Her face swung into view but was instantly concealed behind thick chocolate curls, with only the small pointed nose of their mother visible to the woman standing outside.

The man placed the child on the ground, gently pushing her (for it was a girl) back towards the woman. Still laughing, the toddler made her way towards her mother, who made sounds of encouragement as she walked steadily across the room. When the child was in her clutches, the woman scooped her up and brought her into her chest, bending her face to press kisses and raspberries to the child's stomach. The child laughed gleefully.

The woman set the child back on her feet. As soon as the tiny feet hit the wooden floor, her hair, pulled up on top of her head and tied with a green ribbon, changed into a brilliant bubble-gum pink. She tottered over, hands outstretched as she broke into a bouncy run, to the man dressed in a Muggle shirt and blue denim pants.

Filth for a husband and a freak for a daughter.

She could not hear her from outside but she knew the woman was laughing. The way her shoulders heaved up and down, the way she leaned back into her chair, the way she brought a delicate hand to her lips in attempts to stifle it. How long had it been since Bellatrix had heard her laugh like that? How long had it been since Bellatrix had _made_ her laugh like that?

She acted on impulse, did not even think about it. She did not feel her wand arm lifting, did not taste the curse slip from her tongue, did not see the scarlet streaks of light. She just watched as the ordinary Muggle house onBlackthorn Drive, blessed with the tender care of a true witch, erupted into flames. She just felt the bite of fury, tasted the bitter tang of rage, saw the hot white of anger as it consumed her completely.

She saw the laugh contort into a scream of horror. She saw the smile die away to fear, watched as the crinkled eyes of joy widened to disks of fright. Legs pushed them across the room, hands scooped up the child as they fled the perfect little house, the perfect little safety they had placed too much faith in. Panicked voiced screamed for help, yelling "Fire! Fire!" and a toddler's cry pierced the air.

But Bellatrix was already miles away, back to join the fight she had left. Something dark and nasty had consumed her, pulsed through her veins. The woman she had witnessed had thrown away everything – _everything _– to replace it with the scum of the world. She had chosen what side she was on; she had decided her fate. Bellatrix held no pity for them; they had felt no pity for her.

OoO oOo OoO

She stood breathing hard before him as he surveyed their losses and gains. Evan Rosier lay dead, his body twisted at an odd angle, neck snapped from where he was thrown against a large tree. Moody had escaped once more but not before Evan had blown off a chunk of his nose. His death, however, was more of a loss than Moody's missing nose. The Order, however, would be down two members: Gideon and Fabian Prewett's bodies were sprawled on the ground.

He glided over to the bodies now. A foot pressed against the side of their heads to turn their faces up to the light.

"Your work, Bellatrix?" The Dark Lord's voice was soft but she could hear him perfectly. The remaining Death Eaters were silent, panting from the fight, watching their leader intently for a dismissal. Bellatrix walked over to his side to gaze down at the two figures he was indicating. Their red hair glowed gold in the blaze of the fire. Dirt streaked their faces and matted their hair. Boils and blisters bubbled on their skin, evidence of a curse she had thrown at them. Fabian was missing a couple of fingers and Gideon's eyebrows were still smoking. Identical pairs of brown eyes gazed out immobile and unseeing.

She remembered how those eyes had blazed with determination, how they had lit up with ferocity as they ran towards her together. They had fought well – a broken arm and a crushed rib had not slowed either of them down. She remembered how her wand had fallen again and again, curses and hexes erupting from its end, on both the defensive and offensive. Fueled by an anger and hatred so strong she had done more than just hold them back; she had pushed them to their limit, over their limit. She remembered how they had screamed, as if lit on fire, as if their world was being shattered before their very eyes, as if their hearts were being torn from their chests. She had shown them no hesitation, no mercy, no weakness. She felt no pity for their lives, for no one had shown any pity for her. If anything, she envied them, for they were now dead and resting peacefully together.

"You tortured them to death?" His question was straightforward, interested but not disgusted. She nodded.

"Why?"

Bellatrix blinked. Why? Because she hated them. Because she hated everyone right now. Because she hated knowing that you could rely on someone for years and still that someone could turn and leave you, abandon you, become your enemy. Because she wanted them to feel the pain that ripped through her soul everyday.

She said nothing, just stared back at those red slits that seemed to burn into her, through her.

"Let me show you something that will make your work…neater." And with a flick of his wand she collapsed, writhing in agony. Her skin was being clawed at by razors, her insides seemed to have been lit on fire. And then, just as quickly, it stopped. Punishment and a lesson all in one; the Dark Lord believed in learning on the spot.

They continued for over an hour. The hooded figures congregated around them, watching the lesson. He eventually called Dolohov to take his place, taking his position to circle around the dueling pair and shout corrections at her. It was not until nearly two hours when she got it. Bellatrix was frustrated, exhausted, furious. She raised her wand, opened her lips, let the curse slip out:

"_Crucio_!"

Dolohov crumpled to the ground, screaming, his body writhing as if a thousand stingers were being pelted into his skin. She watched, wand pointed at his flailing body, not even realizing that she should release him. She had him – she had him! Finally she accomplished it! Finally, she would no longer be weak! She could make them feel what she felt. She could make them hurt, make them scream, make them feel the cruelty of the world.

"Enough," The Dark Lord's command was soft but she immediately dropped her wand and the curse ended. "You may all return home. Wait for further instructions before making any more raids; I will contact you in the usual." He gave Bellatrix one last look before Disapparating.

Bellatrix glanced back at the man still lying on the floor. He was gasping, clutching his chest, his eyes glazed over in pain. She considered helping him home but almost immediately dismissed the idea. Head held high, black eyes showing no emotion, she turned her back on her defeated opponent and Disapparated from the spot,

She felt no pity for the world; the world, after all, had felt no pity for her.

* * *

****edited****


	45. December 1976: Just Floating in Between

Balloons.

They are an odd but simply contraption that Muggle children seem to be obsessed with. It is funny how an object could be both a play-thing for a child and decoration for a party. They are not very elaborate or intricate things – just a colourful ball of air held down by a single strand of string.

It's a sad little thing, really. A balloon did not belong on the ground; the helium that rounded its figure into a bloated sphere caused it to drift upwards, silently distancing itself from the earth below. Without the helium-air, it was nothing more than a pitiful pocket of coloured plastic, and, deflated, it would lie lifeless on the ground. Yet a balloon finds no freedom in the skies. Silent and submissive, it has no course, takes up no initiative, just floats up, up, up until the wind comes by and dictates where it ought to go. Balloons were not granted the gift of flight. Flight was for the rulers of the skies, the free spirits that soared amongst the clouds. A balloon never makes it anywhere near those white majestic thrones before it falls down, down, down.

So they are tied down to a bench, a rock, a hand, allowed to bob along with the breeze but anchored safely away from the giddy rush of the restless forces above. They are neither on the ground nor in the skies but floating somewhere in between; just a small creature caught between two worlds.

A small child's fuss breaks her out of her stupor, and Andromeda glances down at the girl in her lap. She shifts to reposition the girl's head more comfortably against her chest. The girl quiets and yawns softly before bringing a hand up to her mouth to suck on the thumb, index finger hooking around her nose to hold the hand securely in place. Content once more, the toddler's hair changes from a light brown to golden blonde, and her skin tone lightens to a creamy, almost angelic, white.

Andromeda gazes down into her daughter's face. Nymphadora is a Metamorphmagus, born with the ability to change her physical appearance. It is not a common ability; on the contrary, it is extremely rare, even in the magical world. She has never known or seen one before. Though she loves her daughter very much and would never, for all the world, exchange her for another child, she cannot help the apprehension that ripples across her. She remembers her shock when, as a newborn in her mother's arms, her daughter's hair changed colour. She remembers the wide-eyed stares, the exchanged glances, the fake reassurances that always seemed followed by an unnerved little titter. The Muggle neighbors were never allowed to see the child without some sort of allusion spell cast first, for fear that it would send them to the hospital in shock. Those in the magic world viewed it as strange and unnerving; something to be suppressed or tested.

Not accepted in the Muggle world for who she was. Not accepted in the magic world for who she was. Just a tiny toddler, not yet three, already caught in the middle of two worlds.

Just like her mother.

Just like a balloon.

Andromeda takes a deep, wavering breath, letting it out slowly, trying to remain calm and cool. She looks out across the street, to where the ruins of their house stand. Consumed by the ruthless fire, the walls are black and the southeastern side has caved in. An array of furniture sets, clothing, and household items are scattered across the front yard. It is a hodgepodge of people working together to salvage what is left from the flames. There was Ted, dear Ted, scrambling across the roof, completely at home as he paused to draw a metal tool from a belt slung snugly around his hip. Beside him, just as comfortable, is Benjy Fenwick. Two years older than Ted, he, too, was engaged to a witch who had been raised in a magical family; from personality to circumstance, the two men were quite similar and as a result got along extremely well. Not quite as comfortable with climbing a rooftop without a wand firmly in hand, Frank Longbotttom had settled for hauling furniture out of the ruins. He was currently waddling backwards, one end of the large grand piano propped up in his arms. Guiding him from the other end was Robert Hampton, the middle-aged man who lives next door. Timothy Hihgam, the young family-man who lives just down the street, is there as well, working together with Emmeline Vance and Simeon Bosworth. Timothy's two children, Cornelia and Samuel, are chasing each other across the yard, pausing only to half-mindedly receive a scolding from their mother before dashing off again. Esther Hihgam had taken out all of her cleaning products and was instructing Alice Longbottom on the best way to remove ash marks.

Muggle-borns, Squibs, Muggles, and Purebloods, all working together to save what they could, to put the house back together and build a home again. Watching them from across the street, nothing indicated the difference she knew separated each of them. They were one inclusive group, comfortable with each other. But not her. It did not matter how long she had befriend them, she still did not fit in, her refined old mannerisms still barring her from complete assimilation.

She was just a balloon, floating between this world and the old world, the world she could never return to.

"Someday," she vows. "Someday we'll find our place in this world. We'll find where we are meant to be. We'll find our home. And I will _never_ let anyone or anything hurt you." With renewed tenacity, she tightens her arms protectively around her daughter, pressing Nymphadora to her, knowing that even if she never found true belonging for herself, she would find it for her daughter.

* * *

****edited****


	46. January 1977: New Year Kisses

Paris was such a beautiful city, especially at night. The streets were filled with witches and wizards eagerly awaiting the start of the new year. Little cafes and quirky shops were still receiving customers but business owners, for the most part, had shut their doors and pulled the blinds in order to spend time with their families and friends. The city vibrated with energy as people cast away differences, worries, and troubles of the world in order to stand next to each other, counting the blessing of 1976 and the minutes until 1977.

Bella had been sitting by the window, watching the people go by as she dried her damp curls, when Rodolphus had approached her with an easy smile. We have dinner reservations, he had informed her. Could she be dressed within the hour? Bella had frowned slightly, reminding him that they were there on business but Rodolphus had persisted, and she had reluctantly agreed. A set of delicate wine-red robes hugged her frame; a string of pearls adorned her neck. She had silently reassured herself that their task would not need attending until the following morning regardless, and so long as they were in Paris on New Year's Eve, they could at least enjoy themselves a little bit. Rodolphus had been gentle as he offered her his arm, placed a light kiss on her cheek, and Disapparated them both to the restaurant. But it was not until she recognized the restaurant that Bella beamed and yielded to the magic and charm of the city.

It was _Le dragon rêveur_, the restaurant where Rodolphus had taken her when he had proposed.

And that was how she found herself strolling through the streets of Paris, just a part of the crowd. At some point during that time, her hand had found its way into his. Or maybe it was his hand that had curled itself around hers. Did it matter, in any case? They were smiling, they were together, and the small gesture brought them pleasantly together.

The couple slowed to a stop upon reaching the Eiffel Tower. It was beautiful: it stood proud and regal against the star-speckled night sky, the coloured lights dancing around it. Leaning into her husband, Bella gazed at it smiling, content. Standing there with Rodolphus, she forgot about her troubles, she forgot about her worries, and suddenly she felt like any other couple standing amongst the crowd. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the way his arms were wrapped around her to block out the chill of the winter wind. Or maybe it was just the allure of the city, weaving its charm and enchantments.

Somehow their lips touched, and she closed her eyes, lost in the kiss. Everything disappeared: Narcissa's safety, Mother's happiness, Father's health, Andromeda's betrayal, the Dark Lord's manipulations, the brewing war. It was just Bella, and Rodolphus, and each other. His tongue slid across her lip, and she parted them without a fuss, kissing him deeply, happily. Large hands cupped her face, holding her close. Her ears buzzed. She could not remember the last time he had kissed her like this, the last time she had kissed _him_like had been so worried and caught up in family matters, always looking after everyone else and make sure everyone was else was taken care of that she had neglected him. She had neglected herself.

The crowd swept forward suddenly, jostling the two apart. Bella blinked down at the smiling face of a short, middle-aged witch.

"_Bonne annèe_!" She cried before tossing into the air bright confetti that exploded into tiny birds that chirped and fluttered away. The city had erupted into cheering and laughter; everywhere people were throwing up confetti, banging their hands to an imaginary beat, casting up enchanted fireworks. Lights filled the sky and shouts of "Happy New Year!" filled the air.

"Happy New Year, Bella." The low whisper tickled her ear and made her promptly turn around. Rodolphus smiled at his wife. Bella returned it with a wide smile of her own. She opened her mouth to wish him a happy year, as well, but never got the chance. His mouth crashed over hers and she had no choice but to kiss him back.

Maybe it was escaping from England, even just for a little while. Maybe it was knowing that no one could stop her.

Or maybe it was just the city, beautiful Paris, who could make the eyes sparkle and old love rekindle.

* * *

****edited****


	47. April 1977: A Promise

_For only he who had unlocked the power of love could deserve to unlock the secret of the garden._

Narcissa sat in a stiff, high-backed chair, eyes gazing unseeing at the commotion before her. The parlor was filled with high-ended witches and wizards, many distant relatives she had never met. In her fingers she cradled a wine glass, swirling the dark liquid around and around. It was just as full as it had been when handed to her – not a sip less. Occasionally, someone would pause before her, pressing their leering faces into her focus, eyes glittering greedily, snapping her out of her glazed staring. It was always the same: name, polite congratulations with too much emphasis on how well-matched the pair was, and their name again. It was indirect, it was discreet, and it was all deception. People whom she had never seen, who had never spoken to her, who had barely looked at her save for a dismissive glance, were now clawing for her attention, her good opinion, hoping to secure a promise for higher status or funds. Her blank expression and polite murmurs masked the hatred and disgust in her eyes.

It was funny how society was so eager to sidle up next to you and please you when you were connected with so large a fortune.

And the whole time, that hated rock weighed down on her finger. The thick gold band, which had been rammed onto her finger earlier that day, was hard and cold, tight against her finger. It swelled around her second finger, biting into the crevice where her delicate finger met her palm. It rubbed against the sides of the neighbouring digits; rub, rub, rub, until she was sure they were raw from the gleaming metal. It was cold and hard and unfriendly, and upon it sat a large rock that sneered at her with such hostility she cowered away from it involuntarily. The lights from the chandelier reflected from every face, shining into her eyes harshly, mercilessly, jeering. The rock was bulky, heavy, tugging down on her hand like a weight, throwing her off balance so that she had stumbled around the room with the grace of a mountain troll. It had clanked against the wine glass. It snagged at the threads of her new dress robes. It had pulled back her fingers at the piano, slowly them down so that the notes came out in jumbled disarray. It was a manacle, shackled to her left hand.

Narcissa hated the ugly thing.

Drinks were passed and the food was finally brought out. Laughter rose, good-humored voices talked loudly of issues of slight consequence. Yet Narcissa remained unmoving, unsmiling, fading into the background as the party ignored her. No one asked how she felt. No one asked what she wanted. No one asked her if she was ready. Because no one cared. They all sat around and made plans, deciding upon everything, so that all she had to do was be present in body. She was to be sold, like a slave, in exchange for a glittering rock, to a man she barely knew before she was even out of school.

It would be a lie to say that the idea did not terrify her, though she tried very hard to conceal it.

"I finally escaped." The low voice at her ear startled her, and she whipped her head about to see a man drawing himself a chair. He had deep blue robes that looked very smart on his tall and built frame, long, white-blond hair was pulled back behind his head, and deep silver eyes that were sparkling mischievously.

It was Lucius Malfoy, her soon-to-be husband.

Narcissa turned promptly away from him, ignoring the soaring of her heart at his presence. She was angry right now, and he was one of many of culprits; she did not want him to come sauntering over with his melodic, smooth way of speaking and piercing eyes that always seemed to unravel her dignified resolve.

"I have been trying to excuse myself from that woman's clutches for over twenty minutes. She's worse than the Giant Squid." He chuckled, settling comfortably into the seat he had drawn up with his wand. Narcissa, determined to remain in her irritated mood, kept her eyes pointedly away from him. Lucius frowned, immediately noticing her rigidity and callousness.

"Come on, Narcissa! I really _did_ try to get away from here. Do you think that I would rather stand around listening to my Great Grandmother drone on and on than sit here with you?" He leaned forward with a sigh. Then, in a softer, almost pleading, voice, "Narcissa."

The girl's head abruptly turned to face him, blue eyes burning with anger. Lucius flinched visibly, hastily retracting the hand he had reached out to brush back her hair with. He swallowed hard, wary.

"And what, pray tell, was she discussing that could have possibly taken up so much of your time?"

"Why, the wedding, of course. She seemed to be quite put out about the brand of elf wine that would be used for the toast, insisted that an Italian brand be used instead."

"But of course!" Narcissa gave a dry laugh. "Ask one of the aunts or grandmothers or other meddling fools but never ask the to-be bride! Oh no, we mustn't ask her!" She gave another humourless laugh before resuming her original position of glaring out at the festivities. Lucius studied her silently, a bit confused.

"Narcissa, what is this all about?"

"Oh, don't act like you care!" She snapped. Lucius's eyes flashed angrily but his expression betrayed nothing. "Go return to the party; enjoy yourself while you may." With that she closed her fist around her wine glass, flicking her wrist; it disappeared, leaving only a wisp of smoke it its place.

The man, however, did not move from his seat beside her. A heavy and uncomfortable silence settled over the two. Lucius was staring at her intensely but Narcissa seemed determined to not look at him. He finally gave a huff of frustration.

"Let's get out of here." He said softly, rising to his feet. He grabbed her arm, causing her to lift her eyes to him.

"What?"

"Let's go!"

"We cannot just leave!" Narcissa cried, a bit flustered.

"Why not?" Lucius demanded, and smirked when Narcissa, who had no answer, simply pursed her lips. "We'll be back before they miss us. Besides, it is not as if you are participating." She glared at him but he did not so much as blink.

"Fine!" She snapped, and allowed him to escort her out. Her brow furrowed when he led her out the elaborate entrance doors and marched her outside her home but did not slow. She was angry enough to be too proud to show any weakness with hesitation.

"Don't let go," he warned. She barely had time to register before he spun on his heel, and she felt the unpleasant sensation of being stretched and squeezed. She recognized the sensation immediately: they were Disapparating.

With a gentle _pop! _the two appeared amongst a fairly dense bunch of trees. Narcissa recognized it as the forest that lines the path leading from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts.

"Lucius!" She shrieked. "You brought me to Scotland! Are you out of your mind? You must take me back immediately!"

"The journey back won't take any longer than the journey here." Lucius informed her calmly, if a bit coldly. "I want to know what it is that is bothering you." Narcissa tensed immediately.

"Never you mind!" She muttered.

"I will mind!" He hissed, and she glanced up at him in surprise. Though he maintained his composure, his eyes were scalding and she could tell that he was angry as he took a step towards her. "You sit there sulking and you want me to brush it off and just believe that there is nothing wrong? Do you think I am daft, Miss Black? You had best get used to the idea of me minding because you will soon be my _wife_! The wedding is less than five weeks away."

Narcissa looked away from him, an icy coldness settling over her body. Five weeks. Was that really all that was left? Five weeks, and then she would be bound to someone she barely knew before she was even out of school. Anger disappeared and terror rose to take its place – throat-clenching, sickening terror. A small part of her felt guilty that she had snapped at Lucius; he cared about her wellbeing, the only one who ever slowed down to notice her disinterest in the marital matters that the house of Black and the house of Malfoy seemed to be absorbed in as of late, and she had still behaved coldly towards him. Yet how could she not? She liked him very much, enough to know that he was a handsome man and that she could easily see herself being happy with him. She yearned for his affection, though that was hardly something she would admit to Cati or her other friends.

But Narcissa was naïve and a romantic and young. She did not want to be a married woman so soon following her 18th birthday. She did not want to seal away her closeness to Bella, who had, since Andromeda's betrayal, been spending a lot of her time with her youngest sister but only under the condition that Lucius was not present. She was terrified at having to uphold her duty of making babies. She was afraid of losing her freedom, her youth, her family, her self. Marriage was supposed to be between two people who loved each other – at the very least care about each other. She knew what she felt towards Lucius; she was blind, and apprehensive to find out, what Lucius felt towards her. They were heading into this marriage blindly, strictly on orders.

How could a relationship based solely to please others ever last a lifetime?

A large warm hand took hers, and Narcissa realized that her silence had been answer enough for Lucius. She searched his silver eyes; they were gentle. He brushed back her golden locks and she shivered slightly at his touch.

"Follow me," he whispered, then led her by the hand, picking his way over bushes and fallen branches and twigs. After several minutes of trekking through the forest, he paused, instructing her to close her eyes. Curious, she did so, wondering what it was that he wanted to show her. She heard the rustling of leaves and movement but it was not until she heard the creaking of iron metal that she frowned.

"Can I open my eyes?" She called out.

"Not yet!" Was his reply. Then she felt his hands gather hers to lead her a few ways forward. He led her slightly to the left, then pushed her shoulder to angle her in the desired position.

"Alright…now!"

Narcissa opened her eyes, and gasped.

She was standing in the middle of a large garden. Elegant black wrought-iron fencing enclosed the clearing, which was covered in a carpet of bright green, soft spring grass. Large trees were planted strategically throughout the garden, so that the there were shady areas as well as sunny areas. Beneath several of the trees stood quaint little benches that matched the style of the fencing. A dirt path wound its way through the clearing, between bushes, around hedges, and under arcs. All around were bunches of flowers, growing fervently, untouched by the harsh winter winds. The garden was a rainbow of colours: purple violets, cerulean forget-me-nots, golden gorse flowers, yellow tansies, powdery white dandelions, and red spindle berry blossoms. And right in the center grew a deep green bush dotted with large blossoms of frail pink, innocent white, and reckless red.

It was a bush of roses, at the heart of the magnificent garden.

Blue eyes wide, hardly daring to believe what she was seeing, Narcissa turned to Lucius, breathless.

"It can't…"

"Yes it can." He whispered, knowing what she was about to say even though her mouth could not form the words.

"How did you…" Her heart raced in her chest, her eyes searched his face, trying to find any hint of mockery, of contempt, that would prove to her that this was all folly.

There was none.

"I fit the criteria to find it, Narcissa." His voice was soft, not much louder than a whisper. She knew the criteria; she had memorized that tale, down to every detail. She knew that, if this were real, than he must love her, passionately, for he had loved her with enough fervor that he had found the keys to the Secret Garden, the garden that had been made for and tended by love for centuries. She trembled, frightened to give in to this realization if it could be snatched away from her. She blinked and gazed around, as if any moment this dream could transform into a dark and hideous nightmare.

"Cissa," he breathed, cupping a hand around her cheek. She tilted her head so that she could hold his gaze and suddenly, being so close to him, she was filled with a warmth that spread over her skin and crept into her cheeks. Her bright eyes flickered from his eyes to his lips and back again, and then she was falling, falling, falling, lost in his eyes of liquid silver that just bore into her, willing her to say it, to speak the undeniable truth.

Then suddenly her eyes closed and a buzzing filled her ears. She could not see or hear anything, and her mind was sluggish, unable to grasp what was happening. All she could do was _feel_. She felt plump lips press onto hers, warm and bordered by stubble. She felt a cool tongue slide across her bottom lip, and she yielded to its call easily, letting it slip into her mouth. She felt a large hand curl around her neck, while another pulled her close, resting at her waist. She felt silky hair run between her fingers, a toned chest pressing against her. She felt the desire as heat rose from within her, passionate and desperate wanting as her heart thumped away, a million beats per minute.

She was overwhelmed by the feel of him, and yet she could not get nearly enough. She leaned into him without even being conscious of doing so, pressing for more, for which he was only to eager to comply. She never wanted to break apart. She never wanted to lose this. Her very soul had been craving this very moment for the better part of the year; now that she got it, she did not want to give it up.

Alas, while the soul continues forever without the want of physical needs, the body must have air, and the two broke apart, gasping for it. Lucius was smiling but it took Narcissa's mind much longer to process what had occurred. She gazed at him expressionless for a couple of heartbeats. Then, she broke out into a fit of giggles.

"What's so funny?" Lucius asked, cocking his head.

"I've wanted to do that for a long time." Narcissa admitted, blushing. Lucius smirked.

"Did it meet expectations?" His tone was light and teasing but he was too cocky for her liking. Still, it was hard to scold him when he was grinning at her like that. She stretched up onto her tiptoes, craning her head to peck him on the lips with a tiny chaste kiss.

"Better," she whispered, then giggled again. Lucius smiled, moving to grab her hands.

"Come on, there's something else I wanted to show you." She followed him happily, slightly giddy as he lead the way deeper into the Secret Garden.

He led her to one of the benches. It sat beside a small willow tree that stood humbly beside a gurgling stream. It was a beautiful sight, and it made her heart soar. Lucius peered back at her, and she saw that he looked just a bit nervous as he pulled back some of the wispy branches of the willow. She thought that bringing her to the garden was the best gift anyone had ever given her in itself. What he showed her nearly made her heart stop.

Lining the bank of the stream, their faces leaning over to laugh at the rushing water and watch as their reflections were swirled into liquid gold. About thirty brightly yellow flowers danced happily in the slight breeze, the six petals skirting the center bell that stretched up towards the warm sun. She recognized the flowers immediately: narcissus.

"You are crying." He pointed out softly. Narcissa brought a hand and delicately touched her cheek. He was right; her fingers felt the moisture on her face. She turned to him, and almost burst out laughing at his expression. It was clear that he thought he had upset her and was now raking his brains on how to set it right. She placed a delicate hand on his arm and smiled reassuringly.

"No one has ever done something like this to me before." She told him. "Thank you."

They went over to sit on the bench. They talked some, and kissed some more, but mostly they just looked out at the garden, in awe to be sitting in the lovers' sanctuary together. Narcissa leaned against him, her head on his chest, his arms wrapped around her comfortably, as she gazed out at the band of narcissuses, the narcissuses that he had planted for her. Sitting there with him, away from prying eyes and social expectations and high-class dignity, problems faded away and the world seemed simple. The world, in her Secret Garden, was just the right size.

"Cissa," he spoke eventually.

"Hm?" She did not stop the mindless shapes she was tracing onto his arm.

"Will you marry me?"

That certainly caught her attention. Puzzled, she twisted her neck so she could see him and found that he was serious.

"I already am." She reminded him. Lucius shook his head.

"No, will you marry _me_. For _me_. Not because our parents want us to, not because we are Pureblood, not because it's what all of them want us to do. Do _you_ want to marry me?" He hesitated but, taking a deep breath, he continued. "If you do not, if you say no…I promise…I won't make you. I'll break off the engagement… tell my mother I refuse to go through with it so that you won't get into trouble." His face was expressionless. He had pulled the mask on in order to rid her of the bias of his own emotions.

Narcissa relaxed her neck so that she was facing away from him, out at the flowers and the stream. Did she want to marry him? She was not sure. She loved him. Merlin, she loved him with all her soul! But they had been seeing each other for less than a year; her birthday, in 15 days, marked their full year. How much of that had been to keep up social pretenses and how much from genuine enjoyment for each others' company? She had spent almost a year flitting from one boy to the next after her father had told her she was betrothed, desperate to drown herself out of her misery by shoving her tongue down someone else's (anyone else's) throat. The roguish streak that had been so prominent in her older sisters had died down after she met Lucius and found he was not the monster her sisters made him out to be. But even so, they had not been together long, and it frightened her beyond expression to have to sign herself away to him. Yet at the same time, she knew that there was no one else she would want to spend her life with. She wanted to marry someone she could trust; someone who would respect her; someone who she could curl up with and feel safe; someone who could make her feel beautiful and wanted just by looking at her.

She wanted someone who would love her.

And here he was, offering her the choice, asking her what she felt, what she wanted, if she was ready…because he cared. Because he loved her.

Narcissa twisted around once more, smiling widely. At first she said nothing, just gazed into those silver pools. They were hopeful but she could detect the apprehension.

"Yes," she answered. "Yes, I will marry you. I do not want anyone else."

Lucius grinned before pressing his mouth to hers, kissing her deeply. Much too quickly he pulled away. He pulled out his wand and tapped it in the air twice. Narcissa watched, curious, as an oddly shaped grey sack appeared. It was a pearl grey, and had several layers that all met at a peak, much like a flower bulb. Slowly, the layers unpeeled from each other, like petals. Inside, lying right in the center, was a silver ring.

"But I already have a ring." Narcissa said, holding up her left hand to show him the gold band fastened across her second finger. The ostentatious metal glared cold against the natural warmth of their environment. Lucius quickly slipped it off her finger and into his pocket.

"My mother insisted on having that ring. It's an heirloom." He rolled his eyes. "I asked you for myself, and you answered for yourself. Besides," he gave a little chuckle, "I believe you'll find this more to your taste." Tenderly, he took her left hand and slid the silver ring onto her finger. It was a beautiful piece of jewelry. The band was slim and silver, matching his eyes perfecting and melting into her skin as if it was a piece of her. The band curled around a majestic mother of pearl, "mermaid's gold". Sitting on each side of the pearl was a small diamond, craftily cut in such a way to that the gems caught the light to reflect rainbows.

The gold ring had been a manacle, shackling her to a past arrangement during an old decade. The new one, _her_ ring, was a promise.

When they finally made it back to the mansion, the couple _had_ been missed. Her mother took her in her arms and wondered where she had been, eyes darting suspiciously between the two of them. Narcissa had sighed and told her they had gone strolling through the gardens and had lost track of time; it was partly true. She was not happy to have to return to the party, to have to put up with old, bickering ladies and tune out conversations that, frankly, were just a waste of her time. But this time, she sat with Lucius, her fiancé, touching the silver ring with fascination.

Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy, she thought, experimenting. She shivered in delight. Lucius, feeling her movement, touched her hand and glanced at her in concern. Narcissa bobbed her head, answering his unvoiced question.

Yes, she decided with a smile, everything was as it should be.

* * *

****edited****


	48. April 1977: Empathy

Narcissa trotted down the small flight of stairs leading from the girls' dormitory to the common room, pulling a black robe around her shoulders as she did so. The Slytherin living quarters were always cool due to its location below sea level. The Prefects were given the task of patrolling but it was not uncommon for the Head Boy or Girl to participate every so often. As Head Girl, Narcissa was granted permission to walk about the castle after hours. Usually, she used this privilege to complete her responsibilities or help the Prefects with their own but sometimes, like tonight, she just needed to wander about and think, too restless for sleep.

It was for this reason that Narcissa froze upon seeing a form sitting on one of the black leather couches facing the fireplace in the common room. There was no need to worry about explaining herself, least of all to a student, but the guilt of abusing her powers made her heart thump heavily. She moved silently across the room. The figure was a male, perched on the edge of the seat, as still as a statue. He was leaning forward, gazing out at the dwindling flames. His cropped black hair appeared neglected, and he was still in the traditional school uniform, though everyone would have most certainly changed out of them and into more comfortable attire hours ago. Even hunched as he was on that couch, Narcissa could tell that he was tall and lanky, as most fourth-year boys were. The flames crackled and flickered, casting an eerie glow on his somber expression and dull eyes. Narcissa recognized him immediately and froze once more in surprise.

She must have gasped aloud because Regulus Black lifted his head and turned towards her.

"Oh," he said dully. "It's you." With that, he resumed his original position. Narcissa blinked. That was it? No sneers, no taunts, no mocking jobes? She favored him over his brother, whom she detested, but she still held a deep dislike towards the boy. His behaviour was so unnatural that instead of putting her at ease, it made her more wary.

"What are you doing down here?" She demanded.

"I couldn't sleep." He responded with a shrug. He was gazing up at her, and even in the dim light Narcissa could see that he had bags under his eyes, which were as hollow as a thestral's. Something was wrong; something was very wrong. But she was still too suspicious to let him off so easily.

"Isn't it a bit late for you to be out of bed?" She taunted haughtily. "Aunt Walburga won't be happy if I wrote to her and told her that you broke the rules, now would she?"

"Please, Narcissa, don't send me away. Please."

If she had been shocked by his appearance, then she was flabbergasted beyond the point of speaking. She stood there opening and closing her mouth but no sound came out. Regulus Black had said 'please'. 'Please'! In a tone bordering pleading. This could be no joke. Of all the pranks Sirius and Regulus had pulled on her over the years, they never once succumbed to pleading. They had too much pride for that sort of thing – not surprising, as they _were_ Blacks.

It was Regulus who broke the silence.

"Narcissa, how…" he hesitated but, taking a deep breath, finished, "how did you do it?"

The older girl tilted her head thoroughly confused.

"Do what?"

"Cope."

"With _what_, Regulus?"

Regulus was silent for a long time, his face contorted as if whatever he was asking about was causing him pain. When he finally spoke, it was with a soft voice, and he was no longer looking at his cousin but down at the last glowing embers.

"Andromeda leaving."

Regulus could not have gotten a more drastic reaction that if he had slapped her across the face. Two red, angry blotches rose in Narcissa's cheeks and her eyes sparkled dangerously. Her heart rate increased as dark emotions were stirred to the surface, muddying her collective countenance. The tension in the room increased triple-fold. The girl stood there, rigid and cold, struggling to control the storm within from showing through her guard. The boy was hunched over, shoulders sagging and head bowed low in clear defeat.

"Don't talk to me about her."

"Did it hurt you very much when she left?" Regulus appeared not to have heard her.

"I said I don't want to talk about it!"

"Assuming you mussed her, of course." This last bit was added almost pensively, like an afterthought.

"I said shut up!" Narcissa hissed. Regulus looked up to a stare so icy it could have frozen the last embers in the fireplace but he did not flinch. He seemed to be beyond feeling or caring. "Why so interested now, anyways?"

The colour drained from his face, leaving him looking a sickly grey. He licked his lips, nervously, and Narcissa noted that he was trembling.

"Sirius ran away four days ago. He's gone."

Whatever Narcissa had expected to hear, that wasn't it. There was a heartbeat of shocked silence. Then,

"_What_?"

Regulus nodded.

"He left during the break. Mum and him had another row – really nasty one. I think they were talking politics again. It didn't end well, especially since Father came in right in the middle of it. Most of his stuff is still in his room, just like he left it. He just upped and left that evening. Never came back. Didn't take much with him; left a lot of stuff behind…including a whole list of profanities." He added darkly.

She found it very hard to be angry with him; on the contrary, she pitied him. She knew what it felt like to be left behind by someone you loved. After she got over the initial shock, she found that she wasn't surprised, really; Sirius had been the irksome family relic since he was eight, and it had only been getting worse since starting school. Still, Sirius was Regulus's older brother. There was always that perception about the older sibling that made you think they were always going to be there, protecting you, guiding you. Older siblings were supposed to be there for you, through everything. Because all the fights and jealousy and hair-pulling wasn't supposed to matter at the end of the day; they were supposed to be family. But apparently that was all just an illusion cast by the naivety of younger siblings. Big brothers didn't see it like that… or big sisters for that matter.

Narcissa made her way over to him, sitting on the leather seat beside him. She let her hands rest in her lap, looking down at them awkwardly as she wondered what to do to comfort him. She shied away from draping an arm around his thin shoulders; too much had occurred between the m within the 14 years she had known him. An image of a bucket being slammed onto her head flashed through her mind, and she remembered how humiliation had burned her cheeks as a young boy's rude laughter rang in her ears…

It was hard to believe that this was that same boy.

"Mother burned him off the tapestry." Regulus informed her quietly. "The moment he stormed through the door. He's officially been disowned."

"That makes two, then."

"Three," he corrected. At Narcissa's confused frown, he explained, "Uncle Alphard is not a part of the family anymore, either."

Uncle Alphard…she remembered a young man picking her up off the floor when she was but a toddler, laughing and granting her one song after she had been caught watching on of her parents' parties from behind a wide column. He had bright eyes, a deep warm chuckle, and light hair that he would point to whenever her sisters or cousins mocked her about being dropped off by Delivery-by-Floo services.

"Mother wasn't going to let Sirius have any of his inheritance, of course. Uncle Cygnus, either. But Uncle Alphard has always been more forgiving and he didn't listen to Mother. He was mad that she had not been more understanding – so mad that he gave Sirius some of his money early. Mother was furious."

The cousins lapsed back into silence, side by side, watching the last of the glowing embers die out. The empty common room was left in darkness, save for the faint greenish glow of the moon and stars outside that reflected in through the lake. Somehow, it was easier to talk about these things in the dark. Narcissa did not bother with useless comments like "It'll be okay" or "He'll come back , you'll see". It was a lie, all of it, and they both knew it. So she just sat there next to him, her arm brushing with his, feeling, perhaps for the first time, like family.

"I didn't hate him." Regulus whispered, yet in the stillness of the room it sounded loud enough. "Not really. Not even when he got sorted into Gryffindor. I don't know what changed. Sometimes I wish I hadn't been sorted into Slytherin…maybe then he would have still liked me…"

"It wouldn't have made any difference, Regulus. Andromeda was in Slytherin, same as us, remember? She still left…never came back."

"I just wanted to impress him. I just wanted to be someone he could be proud of."

Narcissa swallowed hard.

"Me, too, Regge. Me, too."

* * *

****edited****


	49. July 1977: Fantasies of Summer

It was midsummer, and the days were stifling, with rainy afternoons that hiked up the humidity several notches. But the nights... alas, the nights were cool, ruled by the breezes that blew in from the West. It was the perfect time to sit outside, perhaps on a porch, swinging gently while cradling a lover.

Lucius Malfoy sat on the cushioned glider with Narcissa Black on his lap, an arm wrapped around her slim waist protectively, if not a bit possessively. His left hand ran up and down her exposed legs, fingertips dancing softly from her shin all the way to her thigh, at which point she would shiver in sinful delight. She squeezed her legs together against the tingling heat that was building up in between them. Her left hand rested at the base of his neck, fisting and pulling at the hair found there as she kissed him back fervently, almost as if to prevent him from leaving. Not that he would, unless it was to kiss another part of her. Her right hand pressed against his shoulder blades, nails biting into his skin through the light fabric of his robes, bringing him closer as she arched against him.

He nearly moaned with desire when he finally tore himself away from her lips to suck at her neck. Her breaths were ragged and uneven, her breasts pushing against his chest with every gasp for air. She was making sweet little noises that were part moan, part whimper as he sucked on her soft skin, so smooth and pale, like moonshine. He toyed with the idea of leaving a mark on her, and finally decided to do so; she could always conceal it if judged too offensive for public eyes. He nipped at her flesh, hand trailing closer to the inside of her thigh, and she wriggled, openly moaning with pleasure now. He was thrilled by the idea of claiming her as _his_. It didn't matter if she did have to conceal it later; she was his, all his. It was his hands that made her moan, his mouth that she craved, his scent she carried, and his mark she would wear.

A magenta, bruise-like shadow appeared on the curvature of her neck. He let his tongue slide over it soothingly before straightening up to look into her face. Her eyes were half-closed, swollen lips parted, cheeks flushed. His hand had traveled up her leg, over her hip, and under her shirt to caress the taut stomach. Her eyes fluttered open to reveal two sparkling blue orbs. Merlin! He would do anything - anything at all - to have those blue eyes always look upon him with the deep affection and desire they held now.

"Lucius," she breathed, and he knew she wanted it, wanted him. And, damn, he wanted her, too! Craved her, needed her. He was falling into those eyes, for that voice that sang his name and lured him in. It would be so easy to charm her into yielding to him, to give him everything right there on that porch. But he could't make himself do it. He couldn't take her virtue like that. Because she wasn't just another girl; she wasn't just another good fuck. Narcissa was special. So he just shushed her, taking away the temptation - the melodic voice and dazzling blue eyes - by closing his eyes and pressing his mouth to her, satisfied, for right now, with just drinking in her scent.

This time last year, he would have confidently sworn that he would never fall in love. He had never been so happy to be proven so wrong.

* * *

****edited****


	50. October 1977: Blue, Traitors, & Wings

Bella looked on silently from her place at the doorway. The mauve dress she had on really wasn't that ugly: there were no frills or feathers or ruffles. The material was light and airy; the lace sleeves so thin and soft that it didn't even itch. As matron of honor, she knew it wasn't her wishes that mattered but it still was nice to know that Narcissa had kept the dresses of her court to simply modest beauty. The girl had been known to be quite theatrical at times.

A hiss from behind her made the black-haired woman cast a glance over her shoulder. Her mother widened her eyes in a quick glare that clearly said "_Don't you dare!_" Unperturbed, Bella ignored the woman, who was clearly too busy making last minute arrangements to scold her eldest. She needn't have worried, however; as much as Bella hated the current arrangements, as much as it pained her to have to hand over her baby sister to the one man she had always hated, she knew her hands were tied and that it could be no other way. It would have been worse, much worse, to see Narcissa walk away with a man lower than her station and thereby walk away from Bella forever. She couldn't have that; she couldn't lose both of her sisters. And so Bella swallowed her pride and tried to force the image of Malfoy's cold, triumphant sneer out of her head. This was not so easy to do as she watched her baby sister – who, admittedly, was not a baby anymore – fret over her image before a full-length mirror with mixed feelings.

Narcissa looked beautiful in her long gown of white. The silk bodice hugged her small frame, the V-shaped neckline clearly showing that the blonde was no longer a little pink-bowed, ponytailed girl. The long train pooled at her feet, wrapping around her hips and concealing long slender legs. She looked so delicate, innocent, and Bella felt a lump form in her throat at how much of her life the girl before her was throwing away. She was older now, a woman now, but still young…so young. Blue eyes sparkled with apprehension, painted lips were tilted down in a small nervous frown as hands fluttered from her freshly pressed dress to her curled hair to the large teardrop pearls dangling from her ears. It was this show of emotion that snapped Bella out of the nostalgic reverie she had been stuck in all morning.

Wedding jitters: aren't they a bitch.

"You look beautiful, Cissy." Bella reassured her. Narcissa paused in her scrutiny of her make-up to meet her sister's dark eyes in the mirror and tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. Bella laughed.

"Oh, come on, Cissy! I know Malfoy's an arse but marriage life is not that bad." Bella pushed herself forward. Just a moment ago, she had been reluctant, almost terrified, to enter, as if maybe the lack of sisterly affection and participation would make this whole day just a bad dream. But at that moment, she would not have been able to stop her feet from taking step after step even if she had commanded them to; all she wanted to do was wrap her arms around Cissy and hug her real close, just like she used to do when they were children as a means of an apology.

"He's not an arse, Bella." Cissy told her quietly.

"You deserve better." Bella argued.

"But I want _him_."

Bella sighed and gently placed a hand on her shoulder: truce; no arguing on the wedding day. Narcissa lapsed back into silence but she continued to look at her older sister with an expression that made it obvious that she was debating to ask something that she has been wanting to ask for a long time but had been too bashful to bring it up before.

"Out with it, Cissy." Bella ordered. "You're allowed a stupid question on your wedding day." Cissy rolled her eyes, eliciting another soft laugh from Bella. Narcissa had always been good at hiding her emotions – that's why she was Mother's favorite – but Bella had always been able to see right through her high-class mask.

"Does it hurt terribly?" She was hesitant, seeking reassurance from her older sister, and it painstakingly reminded Bella of childhood times.

"What, jumping the broom? Well, you _are_ jumping with the stupid Malfoy boy." The words were out of her mouth more from habit than deliberation but her tone was still bitter enough to incite a sharp affronted look from Cissy.

"No," she snapped. "You know…the wedding night…_it_."

"Sex?" Bella asked bluntly. Narcissa met her sister's gaze a bit sheepishly. She had, of course, talked about sex before. For all the credit that boys got for being obsessed with sex, rebellious 16-year-old girls were notorious for hosting late-night dormitory conversations about the act, eyes bright and giggling. But while she had discussed places, positions, and other habits with Catarina countless times before, she had never brought up the subject with her sister.

"It always feels uncomfortable at first but once you get into it, it just feels amazing. Lucius Malfoy is _supposed_ to be really good in bed but I never really wanted any details from friends." She made a face at the thought of being with her pale arch enemy but continued. "I mean, obviously your _very_ first time will hurt like a hippogriff stomping it's foot up there but – Merlin, Cissy!" She broke off at the look of alarm of Narcissa's face. "You _have_ had sex before, right?"

"No!" Cissy looked almost horrified. "Bella, my wedding is _today_, when would I have…you know…" She gestured with her hands helplessly.

"What does being married have to do with it? I wasn't a virgin when I got married to Rodolphus. And what do you think seven years at Hogwarts is for?"

Narcissa stared at her before asking, "Are you serious?"

"Are _you_ serious? I can't believe you're still a virgin! Well, won't Malfoy be pleased." In lower tones, Bella continued to grumble, thinking it best that her little sister did not hear all the profanities and threats she was promising to greet the groom with. But Cissy did not have any room to feel indignant over the jab at her soon-to-be husband; she was too busy staring at her sister with open astonishment.

"But – how – when?" She spluttered. She knew students had sex at Hogwarts in broom closets, unused rooms, empty corridors, and other deserted nooks that would, hopefully, receive no surprise visitors. She had had the unfortunate experience of walking in on her then-boyfriend Acton Pritchard with his hands up some Ravenclaw's skirts; the relationship had, of course, ended before she even stormed out the door. Still, she had always thought that as high-class purebloods, she and her sisters would experiment with everything _but_ sex. Bella, however, did not seem as disconcerted by this as her sister and answered, in a tone bordering indifference, that she had lost her virginity at the age of fourteen.

"Fourteen?" Narcissa asked weakly, and Bella shrugged as if this held no consequence. "And what about…did she…?"

"Oh, yea, she was no different. She was a bit older than me for her first time. Fifiteen." A dark look crossed Bella's face, as it always did when _she_ was mentioned. "She came and told me all about it the next morning."

"Does Rodolphus know?"

"Yes."

"Does he _mind_?"

"Not at all," Bellatrix answered with a grin. "How do you think I got so good? Rodolphus doesn't care; he's getting me now and, if his moans and comments are anything to go by, he's got no reason to complain. Sorry," Bella laughed again, breaking off at Narcissa's look of displeasure, "is that too much information?"

"Just a little bit." Narcissa admitted. "I don't really want to know about your love life."

"You will once you want tips for yours." Bella teased. But her amiable mood quickly turned sour when she remembered just who would star in her little sister's sex life. An image of Malfoy hovering over her sister's slender form, hands roaming and groping flitted into her mind, making her scowl with repulsion. "Actually, never mind, I don't want to think about _him_ all over you." Cissy giggled, unable to refrain herself.

"Okay, what if I promise not to disclose any details about my love life with Lucius," Bella twitched but did not interrupt, "if you promise not to share any details about your love life with Rodolphus?"

"Deal." And to sign their agreement, both sisters grasped hands and shook on it. Then they burst into a fit of giggles.

"You wait, Cissy, you'll be begging me for suggestions. But that can wait. I wanted to give you something." The dark-haired woman drew her wand and summoned a white velvet box. Bella hesitated, suddenly feeling shy and unsure, and she noted that Cissy, who had leaned forward with piqued curiosity, had caught this reduction of confidence.

"For your 'something blue'." Bella mumbled, not really one accustomed to sweet exchanges. She wasn't sure whether this would be taken as tacky or as a token of sibling peace and reassurance. She held her breath as Cissy took the box and slowly opened the lid. Her awed gasp was all Bella needed to relax back into her easy confidence.

"Oh, Bella!" Narcissa breathed, looking up, teary-eyed. "Really?"

Sitting on the cushion within the box was a necklace of smooth pearls and beautiful, sparkling sapphires that matched Narcissa's eyes exactly. It had belonged to their maternal great grandmother, and the two sisters had argued over it endlessly as children. As the eldest, Bella had first claim to jewelry and other such family treasures. She had never really cared for it or needed it but the day she had been taken to pick out jewels she had started up an argument with Cissy and, to spite her little sister, had grabbed it immediately.

"Do I have to give it back?" Narcissa asked wryly.

"No. This one's yours. I'm just returning it."

Narcissa beamed and allowed Bella to clasp the necklace of pearls and sapphires around her neck. Bella observed her sister long and hard, from manicured toes to her fair head studded with tiny roses. The lump came back, as well as the swirl of emotions: pride, nostalgia, joy, regret. She was once again hit by the realization that Narcissa was not a little girl anymore. As much as she hated to admit it, it was time.

"You may look grown up to them," she whispered, leaning in to kiss her cheek, "but you'll always be my baby sister."

OoO oOo OoO

Dromeda sat rigid in the wooden kitchen chair as she glared at the picture. The _Daily Prophet_ had crinkled and folded in upon itself where the woman's hands had curled into fists without her consciousness. The faster her heart pumped, the faster her mind spun around and around, and the angrier she became. In retrospect, she really should not have been surprised. She had heard the rumors, the talk. It had been flying around for months, the topic of conversation at Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, amongst friends. Everyone had a slightly different twist, a different date. Maybe that's why it had been easy to overlook the subject and dismiss it all as midwife gossip. Maybe it had been easier to conceptualize the gossip as a hypothetical situation rather than a genuine one. Or maybe, just maybe, she just could not bring herself to believe that the past meant so little to the women she had once been proud to call her sisters.

Heavy footfalls sounded from the stairs; the holly, off-key singing accompanied by a child's laughter alerted Andromeda that her husband and daughter were coming for breakfast. Normally, Nymphadora's sweet nature could lift her spirits from any foul mood she was in. Today, however, was going to be an off-day because the dark-haired witch was _pissed_. Stiffly, she laid the paper on the table, smoothing out the crinkles she had made, and took a sip of the hot dark liquid she now brewed every morning, a Muggle beverage called coffee that she had taken a fondness to ever since their daughter was born. She cupped her hands around the warm mug, breathing in the aromatic steam wasting from it. Andromeda closed her eyes and, with some effort, was able to get her emotions under control, pulling on a blank expression. She never was as good at hiding her emotions as her younger sister but at least she was loads better than Bellatrix.

When Ted strode into the kitchen, Nymphadora perched on his shoulders, Dromeda had already controlled her facial expressions to one of mild interest. But this was not the high-class world Black and purebloods society; in an instant, Ted knew that something was very wrong.

"Morning, darlin'," he greeted her pleasantly, and he lifted the little girl, who for the last couple of months had been sporting long magenta hair, off of his shoulders and into her high chair. Andromeda nodded, knowing that if she opened her mouth to speak she would not be able to control what came out. On his way to prepare Dora a bowl of milk and Cheerios, he paused to kiss her lightly on the cheek. As he did so, he caught sight of the photo of the couple smiling out at them from the paper and understanding dawned on him. He knew, without being told, that his wife was going to be distant today as she struggled to keep a grip on her roaring emotions. He made no comment, asked no questions, just squeezed her hand reassuringly, wordlessly conveying to her that he would be there when she was ready to share. A wave of gratitude momentarily washed over Andromeda, and she felt, not for the first time, truly blessed for being in such a trusting relationship with someone as loving as Ted.

How could they do this? How could they! There was Lucius Malfoy, his pale pointed face with his cold grey eyes sneering up at her, dressed in expensive white dress robes. At 22, he appeared just as haughty, egotistical, and callous as he had at age 12. In every feature, Dromeda could see all the characteristics that she had come to hate about the man. Yet who should be standing at his right but Narcissa, looking the part of the sweet pureblood bride. Narcissa, her little sister, arms linked with the Malfoy boy; her little sister, smiling shyly up at the Malfoy boy; her little sister, married to the stupid Malfoy boy. Dromeda could not remember ever having felt so furious. She felt betrayed. Where was Bella in all of this? Where was she, the heavily-lidded, tactless sister who always managed to get her way? Surely Bella would have objected to the matrimonial union of their beloved little sister and their hated school rival? Yet the marriage was done; Bella had kept quiet.

Bellatrix had obviously approved of the marriage. Narcissa's smile on the cover of the _Daily Prophet_ showed all readers that she approved of the marriage. Bella and Dromeda had shared secrets, clothes, affection. What had Bellatrix and Lucius shared, other than crude insults, duels, and detentions? Dromeda stood abruptly, smashing the paper into a tight ball and slamming it into the garbage bin that was kept under the sink.

If Aunt Walburga, Uncle Orion, Father, and Mother were so intent in finding blood-traitors, they had no reason to look as far as Blackthorn Drive, Bristol. As far as Andromeda was concerned, Bellatrix and Narcissa's betrayal made them far more blood-traitorous than her own quest for happiness.

OoO oOo OoO

Narcissa was spent but strangely happy when she woke up that morning. The day before, their wedding, seemed as if it had occurred so long ago. But the night…her toes curled as she thought of it. Bella had been right: it _had_ been amazing. She wondered why she had never attempted it before, why she had been so apprehensive about it at the start, why she had persuaded Lucius to postpone the wedding rather than keep it at its original date. Lucius had been so kind, so loving, as he had kissed away her tears, massaged away the pain. He had been slow, gentle, his breath sweetly warm in her ear as he broke the barriers of her (previously) untouched body. She loved him, and she loved sharing her bed and nights with him.

Their bodies were still sleek and sticky with sweat. The gold comforter been thrown unceremoniously onto the floor sometime during the night as they thrashed about on the bed. Her blonde hair fanned out behind her, some strands slick on her skin. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel how Lucius's fingers had tangled up in her gold locks, fingertips digging into her scalp. Her lips felt swollen from his kisses, her breasts tingled from his ministrations, and her leg muscles were sore from clinging on to his hips as he pressed into her, deeper and faster and sweeter as the night wore on. The ache between her legs had dulled to a pulsing discomfort.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, reveling in this moment. She would have many over the following years but this was the first. She was glad Lucius was not yet awake and was careful not to disturb him as she wriggled out of the cotton sheets to lie naked and exposed upon the bed. She was filled with a calm happiness. She felt like a butterfly, all wet and ragged from being cramped in a cocoon for so long. It seemed like yesterday she had still been a baby, a child, something everyone wanted to protect or otherwise disregard. But all caterpillars transfigure into a beautiful butterfly. She laid on her stomach, letting her hair tumble down her bare shoulders. The air in the room felt cool to her naked, damp skin but she let it dry the sweat as a butterfly hangs upside down to dry its folded wet wings.

She felt new, revived. Her childhood had ended yesterday; it was a door she could never again open. Yet she was not afraid but thrilled. Her new life had begun. She was a butterfly eager to test out her matured wings of womanhood.

* * *

**_End of Part I_**

* * *

****edited****


	51. January 1978: Willing to Pay

**_Part II_**

* * *

"Alright, dinner is ready!" Andromeda hollered over the noise in her living room. "James, you can finish your tale while we eat; some of us are hungry." The men rose at different intervals, making their way towards the dining room.

"What tales? These are anecdotes, Andromeda, not some tall tales. They're our own true Hogwarts adventures!" James argued in mock indignation.

"Yes, yes, and I am the discoverer of the Chamber of Secrets. And where do you all think you are going? Go to the bathroom and wash. Sirius, put down that roll – no, not back in the basket, on your plate, you already touched it - don't give me that look, go scrub! You can act like animals at your house but in here you would do well to act like proper gentlemen."

Andromeda stood with her hands on her hips, a spatula in one and her wand in the other, barring the way into the dining room. It was as if she was guarding the food from masculine uncleanliness. The table, normally big enough to sit four comfortably, had been enlarged to fit eight. Remus was the first one to return, damp hands a sign that they had been properly washed.

"Thanks for having me over, Mrs. Tonks." He muttered humbly. "Do you want me to help you with anything?"

Remus Lupin was still a ragged-looking young man, but he looked happier and more put-together since she had seen him during their time at Hogwarts. He was taller, too; taller already than she was, and she could see young stubble shadowing his cheeks. His appearance and attitude was still one of a polite, pleasant boy who lacked wealth, and while she had initially been overly cautious of the boy, she had quickly warmed up to him.

"No need, Remus, I've got it. Oh no, dear, not there!" She cried, stopping him from sitting in the seat directly beside Nymphadora's kiddy seat. "Nymphadora's at a difficult age right now, won't eat if she's not next to Ted - you understand. Here, why don't you sit over here and start on some salad and bread." She indicated to the chair farthest away from the kiddy chair in question. She liked the boy well enough because Sirius thought so warmly of him and Ted assured her he was safe but she would be lying if she said that the knowledge of him being a werewolf did not unnerved her. She had not yet overcome the lingering prejudice of her old life and never allowed him nearer to her daughter than necessary. If he noticed her unease and predicted her motives, he said nothing.

"Everything smells delicious, Dromeda." Benjy said with a smile. "Thanks for dinner. I'll be out of your hair before you have to put the little one down."

"It's alright, Benjy, you are always welcomed here. Stay as long as you like." Andromeda strode back into the kitchen, flicking her wand at pots, pans, and trays. Immediately, the bowl of mashed potatoes, the tray of rosemary beef (organized with medium-rare to the left, medium-well to the right), and a dish of corn rose into the air and sped towards the table. The rest of the pans and cutlery lined up at the sink, where the scrub, sponge, and towel had sprung up to begin the cleaning assembly.

"Food's on the table." Andromeda declared as the last of her guests sank into their seats. "Feel free to serve yourselves as much as you want. I have to take care of our young lady." She smiled at her daughter, listening attentively to her story as she cut up the meat into tiny pieces.

The party soon lapsed into momentary silence as everyone occupied their mouths with the first few morsels. The dining room was filled only with the clanking of fork onto plate, the occasional muttered "pass the bread, please", and soft thud of drinking glasses being set down. Well, and Nymphadora, who was chattering away to her mother, who was only half listening to a not-yet-four-year-old's fantastical tale about a unicorn, flying monkeys, and her elfin friend Miana.

Ted sat at the head, dressed comfortably in Muggle clothes. He looked tired, an effect Andromeda knew to be from the silent worry he had for his family. With the recent escalation in the political tensions, declared war seemed to be inevitable and he now worried about the safety of his wife and child as well as his Muggle relatives. To his left sat Benjamin Fenwick, Ted's long-time friend whose presence seemed to calm Ted. Between Ted and Dromeda sat Nymphadora, too young to be anything but oblivious to the political struggles that would have so much impact on her life. Across from Andromeda, sandwiched between Benjy and Remus, sat Peter Pettigrew. He had only been over to her home once before, and she was not sure if she liked the boy. He was plump and short, with beady eyes. Sirius liked him well enough but he reminded Andromeda of Narcissa, running after those who were older, far cleverer. Of course, the cases were completely different: Narcissa had been a small child trying to keep up with her sisters while this was an almost-grown man lolling after fellow classmates. Whatever the case, he was a far cry from intelligent and Andromeda held little patience for sort like him. Then, of course, were Sirius Black and James Potter. Thick as thieves and inseparable, it was always with a pang that Andromeda thought of her old relationship Bellatrix. They seemed to be able to read each others' minds and, although they were always getting into trouble, they were turning into respectable adults.

After the initial pangs of hunger had been satisfied, conversation began to waft back in.

"Oh, Ted, there's going to be a meeting in about a week, on the second night of the new moon. My place this time; Eithne is going a bit crazy cleaning it up - you'd think we were hosting the Minister of Magic or something." Benjy rolled his eyes as he bit into his corn, juice spraying everywhere so that Peter had to lean away to avoid most of it. Andromeda, whose attention had snapped onto Benjy, did not miss a beat as she handed the squat boy a napkin and asked, "What sort of meeting?"

"Just the usual meeting, Dromeda. We won't be attacking anyone this week, don't worry. Dumbledore just wants to go over security checks. Things are getting worse; Marlene's brother was found dead yesterday and Caradoc's still missing. Dumbledore's getting worried; Alastor reckons the Death Eaters got him, and frankly, I agree with him."

"He's worse than dead, Benjy, if that's the case." Ted commented gravely.

Andromeda said nothing. She knew Sebastian McKinnon; he had been a student at Hogwarts with her, though he had been in Ravenclaw and four years ahead of her. Intelligent and easy-going, he had tutored her in Transfigurations during her third year, even when he had to juggle studying for his N.E.W.T.s. His death - _murder -_ came as a bit of a shock.

"And his family?" She demanded finally. Ted and Benjy paused to exchange glances, and Dromeda felt her stomach drop.

"His wife and the baby were taken into hiding. They had been visiting a friend when the Death Eaters came knocking. But the other one," Benjy gestured helplessly with his hands, "we weren't able to find the first born. Sheila said the child had stayed at the house with her dad but there wasn't a body."

"Merlin's beard," Andromeda whispered. Sebastian had had a half-blood Irish wife, Sheila, and two children: three-year-old Maureen and fourteen-month-old Sean. Andromeda glanced at Nymphadora, who was singing happily with her mouth full of food. It was suddenly very hard to breathe, as if a hand was clenching tightly around her heart; she could not imagine the state Sheila must be in.

"Bloody hell! What do they want with Maureen? She's just a baby!" James cried, outraged.

"Watch your language, James." Andromeda scolded half-heartedly. "Nymphadora can talk quite well now; she repeats everything." And sure enough, the little girl was now chanting "Boy-dee elle! Boy-dee elle!" around her mashed potatoes.

"It doesn't make any sense." Remus said, brows furrowing in a horrified frown.

"It never makes sense." Benjamin told him bitterly.

"It doesn't _have_ to make sense. You-Know-Who has been after Marlene for a while now but she's good at giving them all the slip. I reckon he's tired of chasing around in the fog. Marlene may not be married but she's got parents and a brother that is. He's hitting those who can bring Marlene rushing back and who can give him valuable information while he's at it." He glanced briefly at his wife and daughter beside him before clarifying: "Family."

The table lapsed back into silence again. Andromeda felt sick. She nibbled on some meat but found that she had lost her appetite. To lose one's husband and child, all in one night? The thought alone chilled her blood. She wondered what it must have been like to come home to a deathly silent house… open the door to the life-shattering news… you would never kiss your husband again… would never hold your baby again. And all for what? To what purpose? To continue the age-old dispute on whether Muggles and wizards could live, survive, in peaceful coexistence? She feared for herself, for her husband, for their daughter. She hated that Ted wanted to be a part of the Order of the Phoenix. She wanted to take on a politically neutral profile but Ted had refused. In the end, they agreed that he should join the Order to assist if not to actively fight. She understood that Ted had everything to gain in winning this soon-to-be war; she also saw that he had everything to lose in fighting in it.

"Speaking of the Order," James began casually. "And seeing as we are of age already…"

"When do we get to join?" Sirius finished.

"You don't." Andromeda answered shortly. Her answer was not taken well; immediately, Sirius and James began to argue indignantly, their voices steadily growing louder over each other and Peter's attempts to plea his case. Benjy and Ted were loudly trying to assure the boys that Andromeda's answer was not the final answer. Only Remus remained quiet, though his expression told her he would not for very long. Nymphadora, who had been startled by the outburst, was looking around with big brown eyes, hair now a bright orange due to the suddenness of the commotion.

"Boys, quiet! Sit down, James, this isn't a football game." James made a noise of confusion at Ted's Muggle phrase but he was ignored. "Dromeda, honey, you can't stop them from joining if they want to." He reached out a hand to place it reassuringly over hers. "They are of age now, all of them. It's their lives and they have to decide what they are going to do."

"This is our war, Dromeda! We can't just sit back and do nothing! I want to fight!" Sirius cried the moment he could speak.

"The Order needs numbers and we want to help." James added. "We know our stuff, we know we can do this!"

"What the other side is doing is wrong, and it's our future the Dark Lord is messing with. If he takes power, our lives will be hell! Sorry," he added, catching his cousin's look.

"If he takes control, we won't be free. Society will be all about those old conservative principles Sirius's mom preaches about. My parents chucked them ages ago, all that 'pureblood' and 'dirty blood' nonsense."

"And you're a blood-traitor now, Dromeda! You're on our side. They won't welcome-"

"Yes, thank you, Sirius." Andromeda interrupted icily. James and Sirius quieted at once. "I think I know quite well what society thinks I am. I know what I am and I know the life I chose. It's been difficult but I do not regret it. And I don't need or appreciate you stereotyping me or stamping labels onto my person because of it."

"Sorry," Sirius mumbled. Beside him, James seemed to suddenly be very interested in his steak. "I didn't mean-"

"It's done."

There was a thick and awkward silence until Remus finally spoke up, calm and even but laced with fierce determination.

"I was discriminated against when I was growing up. I still am. I thought I would never be accepted anywhere or by anyone. But I was wrong. People gave me a chance. I met my three best friends at Hogwarts. They have gotten me into more trouble than I care to admit," at this James and Sirius grinned widely, "but I know that when I am in real trouble they will stick out their necks for me. They gave me a chance; Dumbledore gave me a chance. Even though I am a werewolf," Andromeda shifted uneasily; she liked it better when she forgot about what James liked to call his "furry little problem" and saw him only as a well-mannered sweet _normal _wizard who was just crazy enough to run around with her cousin, "I would not be the same man I am today if along the way I did not meet those good wizards, like Dumbledore, who gave me a chance. I have no interest in joining You-Know-Who. As long as we trust Dumbledore and stick together, we have a chance. I want to fight and if Dumbledore can use us, then I want to fight for my freedom. We owe it to Dumbledore; we owe it to ourselves."

Remus fell silent to cheering and applause. Ted and Benjy were smiling warmly at him and Peter was eagerly clapping him on the back. Andromeda sighed; she knew when she had been out-voted.

"Well, you are not going to do anything now. You need to finish your education. _All_ of you." She shot Sirius and James a pointed look. "Once you finish at Hogwarts and read more into what you are getting yourselves into then you can decide."

"I don't need to read more into it." James muttered but his tone was light. Conversation after that remained on safer, lighter subjects for the rest of the evening.

Her thoughts did not return to the war that was looming over them until she was cleaning up the dining table and kitchen. James, Peter, and Remus had all Floo'd back to their respective homes; Sirius went with James back to the Potters', who had taken him in as a second son after his row with Aunt Walburga during the Easter holiday the year before. Benjy had Disapparated about an hour afterwards to allow the Tonks couple some quiet; Andromeda had settled on cleaning up after their guests when Ted offered to put Nymphadora to bed. She had been hauled up the stairs with screams of "No! I not sleepy, I not sleepy!" But as Andromeda placed the last of the dishes into the cupboard, the hosue was quiet and she could hear the crickets singing outside. It was peaceful and allowed her mind to wander.

Sirius wanted to be in the Order. She knew he would want to be with the same certainty she knew that, come June, he would already be a proud member. James, Remus, and Peter would of course join him (she was skeptical regarding how much help Peter would be but they said people could surprise you). That would add one more family member out fighting, one more family member she could lose.

Didn't she worry enough fretting over how late Ted arrived sometimes? Didn't she work herself into enough of a state wondering when the Death Eaters would come knocking for her loyalty? Wasn't it heartache enough to sit with Nymphadora at night, reading to her, and hope and wish upon every star in the sky that this would not be the last night she would read her daughter a bedtime story? Wasn't it sickening enough to know that Bellatrix was a branded Death Eater, tossed into a cruel world of kill or be killed? And what of Narcissa, married to a monster, a fanged snake just biding his time until opportune moment to strike at its prey? Now Sirius wanted to join the game; he wanted to run out into danger, too. Just one more person who could be snatched from her, never to be heard from again.

She didn't realize she had been crying until two large hands gripped her shoulders and pulled her into a tight hug. The coarse material of his shirt rubbed against her face, her tears pooling at her nose and lips. She gripped him back, hands fisting in his shirt, terrified of what would happen if she ever let him go.

She let his scent calm her, let his voice soother her. She let him maneuver her head so that she was staring up at him, chin resting on his chest. She let him kiss away her tears. She let him rock her back and forth for what felt like hours.

But she did not let him hear the fear, the one question, screaming through her mind: How much more was she willing to pay?

* * *

****edited****


	52. March 1978: Pangs of Jealousy

Narcissa was lying alone in the middle of the large bed she shared with Lucius, curled beneath the grand comforter. It was nightfall, and Lucius was still at the Ministry. So to substitute his absence, the blonde woman wrapped her arms around a long pillow. She was comfortable, warm, and just beginning to slip into unconsciousness when the pangs came.

The first seared through her lower abdomen, raking down her stomach in a quick procession. She gasped and placed a hand on her belly, following the pain. Thinking that she must simply be lying in the wrong position, she placed her weight upon her hips and elbow to shift onto her back. But the moment she uncurled her legs, the pain doubled, biting into her lower stomach, so strong that she cried out and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She waited for the pain to subside once more before trying to move again but the pain pulsed through her, growing in momentum rather than dying down.

Narcissa was afraid now; she didn't know why her body was doing this, and she was afraid. Through the searing pain and the pounding of her heart, she made the decision not to move. She would not provoke the pain. Narcissa gnashed her teeth together to keep from crying out; she was afraid to be alone but she didn't want Lucius's house elf to attend her – she was not quite that comfortable with it as of yet.

So she suffered through the minutes of agony alone. Eventually, the pain began to ebb away, and Narcissa eased into relax. Her heart was still hammering in her throat but her thin body began to loosen. After a lengthy two minutes, she cautiously stretched out first one leg, then another. Nothing happened; there were no pains, no cramps. Still wary, Narcissa very carefully rolled herself onto her back, arching slightly and stretching her legs. A small smile tugged onto her lips when she was able to do so with comfortable ease. She was alright; nothing to worry about. Breathing a sigh of relief, the woman made to sit up.

Suddenly, it was back, burning through her lower body with such a vengeance that she was thrown back against her pillows. Narcissa clenched her fists and squeezed her eyes shut, her mind screaming in panic and pain. What was happening to her!? Why was her body doing this?! Merlin, she just wanted it all to end! She didn't care how, just make the pain cease!

Then, she felt it; it passed through her, and the pain ripped her insides, starting right underneath her ribs and raking its claws down her stomach, between her hips. She muffled a cry, felt the tears roll down her cheeks, and all the while her heart was gripped by a terrible and incomprehensible fear. She felt it leave her, slip out of her, and with it the pain. Then it was all over.

Narcissa lay where she was, breathing heavily, sweat and tears trickling down her face and matting blonde strands of hair to her forehead. She knew, somehow, that something was not right. Knew the moment the pain subsided that she had lost something. Narcissa pushed herself to an upright position, noting that it no longer hurt to do so. Then she placed her hands – both hands – on the comforter, taking a handful in each fist. For some reason she could not fathom, terror bubbled up in her chest. It was much like a child's fear of the dark: a fear of the unknown.

Taking a shuddering breath, Narcissa threw the thick comforter back. Everything stopped as she stared down at it: time froze, her heart stopped beating, her mind became mute. Lying between her pale legs was a heap of blood, and in the center of it was a tiny mangled body, still curled in the fetal position, underdeveloped and lifeless.

Bellatrix Lestrange was needy. She had been needy all week. She had been so busy lately that she had not been able to allow herself a moment's pleasure. She had time now, though, and her need was so great that it hurt. She had been sure to lock their bedroom door; she didn't want to be disturbed tonight by anyone or anything.

Rodolphus's lips left hers, gasping for breath, as she pushed him down onto their bed. She smirked down at him, sultry and seductive, looking much like a wild huntress as she towered over him. He smiled lustfully back up at her before pulling her down to join him, rolling on top of her. The heated kisses and nips they exchanged held no love. Their union was not based upon a child's daydreams of love; it was made only to uphold the duty they each held to their families to marry well and keep the blood pure.

Bellatrix tugged at Rodolphus's clothes impatiently. He yielded to her demands – what was the point of denying her? What Bellatrix wanted, she received. And right then, what she really wanted – what she craved – was her husband's undivided attention.

The couple was working on removing Bellatrix's robes when there was an insistent rap on their bedroom window. Rodolphus removed his lips from her neck, glancing over at the window. A worker for the Ministry, he had to be available for work at all times. Bellatrix knew this and understood the binding contract that came with her husband's position but felt irritated all the same. She wanted this tonight, now, not when the Ministry decided it was convenient! She didn't want to – indeed, had never been expected to – yield to the requests of others, and she was not particularly liking it.

Rodolphus inclined his head to peer down at her.

"It's an owl." There was almost an apologetic note in his tones. But Bellatrix didn't care; fueled by frustration and lust, she grabbed his face and brought it down to hers.

"I don't care," she growled, then pressed her lips to his. He returned her kiss with the same passion. Bellatrix purred in satisfaction. His full attention was back on the needs of his wife…until a second rap, louder and even more insistent this time, sounded at the window. Bellatrix pursed her lips angrily and glared towards the window. She could see that the dark figure outside was an owl, though it was too dark to distinguish whose owl it was.

"Oh, go get it then!" She snarled, pushing Rodolphus away. "And you might as well let whoever it is know that I am going to hex the balls off of them when I next see them. I don't care if it's the Minister of Magic himself!" Bellatrix lay back down against the pillows, fuming. Rodolphus chuckled.

"Bellatrix, you would do that anyway." His deep voice was laughing. Angry, Bellatrix turned her head away from him. She felt the cool night air toss her ebony curls as he opened the window, heard the flap of wings and the soft hoot of an owl.

"Well, you won't be hexing the _balls_ off anyone." He turned towards her, a letter in his hand, his broad chest illuminated in the hazy light of the crescent moon. "It's from your sister."

"What?" Bellatrix pushed herself off the bed suddenly distracted, extending a hand for the letter. She opened her mouth, for a split second intending to ask which one. But she quickly shut it: she only had one sister now.

The letter was indeed from Narcissa. Puzzled, Bellatrix slipped a finger underneath the folds of the envelope, bringing it beneath a lit candle to be able to read her little sister's neat hand. She barely felt Rodolphus's hands as they roamed her body, didn't respond to his kisses on her neck, didn't hear his suggestion to leave the letter for tomorrow morning and join him again on the bed.

She took no notice of him at all. Before, hardly even a minute ago, he had been her only focus, her only craving. But something else had come up. Narcissa had taken up about seven inches to excuse the hour of her letter, and explain all her reasons. Bellatrix skipped all this. In fact, the woman skipped over just about every part of the letter. Bellatrix Lestrange was not a woman for owls; she couldn't stand their mess or their noise or the time they took to relay a message. Bellatrix was much more the kind of woman who would deliver her message herself.

There was only one word in the whole letter which seemed to have captivated Bellatrix's attention: _Come._

And right beside it was a teardrop, small and subtle, already half absorbed by the parchment. There was no persuading her now; she knew what she had to do.

Bellatrix said nothing to Rodolphus. He followed, confused and exasperated, as she unlocked the door, strutted down to the drawing room. He was asking all sorts of questions: why now, what did she want, couldn't she wait until morning, and wasn't it Bellatrix who had wanted to have sex?

"I have to go." That was all the excuse Bellatrix gave before she grabbed a handful of the dark powder that sat in a crystal jar beside the fireplace. Rodolphus was still muttering to himself when Bellatrix climbed into the large fireplace, not even bothering to rearrange her robe or hair. She lifted the powder, letting it trinkle from between her fists.

"Malfoy Manor!" She commanded.

The last thing she saw was Rodolphus's look of outraged disbelief as the purple flames roared around her, transporting her to her sister.

She shouldn't have been surprised, really. Did she truly believe that Bella would respond by owl this time? All the same, it startled her when the fireplace erupted in purple flames, and the dark-eyed woman stepped out of it regally. Bellatrix reeked of sex: robes half-unbuttoned and sitting against her body lop-sided, her lips red from heated kisses, black curls in disarray.

"What's wrong?" Bellatrix demanded, halting before her fair sister, who was seated on a couch. Narcissa looked at her sister blankly, her mind struggling to decipher the words. What was wrong? How to put into words what was wrong?

"I…I" But there was no way she could continue. How could her sluggish mind explain to Bella what was wrong? The dark eyes – almost black, really – flashed with impatience.

"Look, Cissy, I was planning on having a wonderful evening, and you just messed it up. So, if you won't tell me what is the matter with you, then I will return to my prior engagements."

The words tumbled from her mouth, so desperate was she for her sister to stay.

"I lost it!" For the second time that night, her heart stopped beating. How the truth seemed so much more concrete now that it had been put into words! As if saying it made it absolute. Narcissa trembled, her hands clasped together in her lap.

Bellatrix stared, expression asking for an elaboration. She didn't understand. Not yet.

"I lost it," Narcissa whispered, her blue eyes searching those of her sister, pleading for her to understand. Her hand passed over her belly, which had before held something wonderful, something full of promise. It was empty now.

Whatever Narcissa had expected the older woman's reaction to be, this was not it and it frightened her more than she could have ever imagined. Bellatrix's expression softened as she slipped onto the couch beside the younger, placing a comforting arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a tight hug. Narcissa felt her body stiffen and her lips clamp shut. Inside, though, she was screaming. Inside, she was in disarray. Bella was supposed to laugh, tease her, perhaps get angry at her and yell at her for interrupting her night of sexual pleasure for some easily mended paranoia. No need for tears, no need to get upset – this was what she had been expecting Bella to say.

But it wasn't. Bella was not brushing this off. Instead, she was pulling Narcissa in, responding with pity and sympathy. She was being _gentle_. Bella was never gentle. She never lost an opportunity to poke fun at someone either.

Which meant one thing: Narcissa's loss was unfixable. She had lost something precious and would never – _could_ never – gain it back.

Narcissa was not quite sure what came over her: it came quickly, swallowing her whole, too quick for her mind to rein in. She suddenly became aware of sobbing into Bella's shoulder, clutching her robes, tucking herself into the crevice of Bellatrix's arm. The tears slid down her cheeks uncontrollably and she sobbed with open abandon, each one rumbling through her body so that she was gasping for breath between each one. How to explain! How could she ever explain this to the others? What was she supposed to tell Mother and Father, Lucius, and then Abraxas and his wife? She had lost it! She had failed!

Bellatrix pressed Narcissa into her chest. It hurt her deeply to see her sister like this. She offered no words of condolence, for there was none and she despised empty words. Besides, Narcissa would not appreciate voiced acknowledgement to her moment of shameful weakness; Bella wanted to be the consoling, protective elder sister right now, not the obnoxious sibling looking to humiliate her further. She tightened her hold on her little sister and began to sway back and forth gently, realizing once more just how young Narcissa was.

The two stayed wrapped in each others' arms for a long time but finally Narcissa's choked sobs calmed to just shaky intakes of air. When she felt confident enough that she could hold her composure, she lifted her head from where it was buried in Bella's shoulder. Her face was tear-stained, her eyes red and puffy, and her bottom lip still trembled dangerously when she inhaled but the worst was over; she had wept all that she could weep.

"I will tell Malfoy," Bellatrix said softly. "And I will also tell him that I do not want you to try again until you are older. You don't need this kind of pressure. I will not allow it!"

Narcissa gave a half-hearted smile.

"I am not afraid of Lucius, Bella. I will tell him. You are very unjust towards him; he treats me very kindly."

"Who _are_ you afraid of, then?"

For a moment, Narcissa said nothing. She just stared at her sister from swollen eyes, too afraid of losing the little control she had regained. Bella reached out to gently stroke Cissy's hair and face, murmuring words of encouragement. Still, Narcissa hesitate before taking a shuddering breath.

"It's that wretched woman! All she wants from me is children and unless I bear a son she will consider me useless! She looks at me and I know she is criticizing me, like she's breeding two Kneazles instead of waiting for grandchildren!"

Bellatrix gave a dry laugh.

"Oh, you mean the infamous Mrs. Malfoy senior herself. Old hag has a particularly large wand stuck up her ass and then goes about sticking her nose into everyone's business, digging it in particularly deep when it ought not to be there. Don't fret, Cissy, _I_ will deal with her."

Narcissa regarded Bellatrix closely under lashes laced with tears. She had a malicious gleam in her eye and appeared far too eager about the prospect of telling off Lucius's mother for Narcissa to be comforted.

"Don't you go being nasty to her, Bella. She's my mother-in-law. _You_ may be able to anger her and walk away but _I_ will have no rest from her wretchedness if you go and vex her with your sharp tongue after I have told her of this…" Narcissa glanced down at her hands glumly. Bellatrix gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Trust me, Cissy, that woman has had it coming for years. I owe her, actually; she was the one who made me suffer through all those gatherings and events and mention of me becoming her son's bride. Ha! I'll show her what sort of 'little wife' I've become." Bellatrix grinned gleefully at the thought. Narcissa hiccoughed a giggle despite herself; Bella had that crazy look to her and if Narcissa had not hated her mother-in-law as much as she did, she would have felt sorry for the woman. Thinking that the topic of disrespecting Mrs. Abril Malfoy had brightened her sister's somber mood, Bellatrix launched into an enthusiastic rant against the Malfoys, to which Narcissa only half-listened, amused.

Bella was wrong on almost all points concerning the Malfoys. The Malfoys were a proud family but Narcissa rather found that this made them quite interesting to talk to and not at all compassionless. Abraxas was _not_ a vile snow beast waiting to maul any one who passed him by. He had a stony exterior and rarely smiled but this was due more to being brought up under a war admiral's disciplinary ideals than a belligerent disposition. He was a burly man who expected due respect and whose only fear was to appear a spineless coward before others. He was, however, rather harsh with his blunt comments and had the tendency to criticize more than praise but Narcissa tolerated this with ease, earning herself a soft spot in old Abraxas's eyes; where Bellatrix's brash and tactless attitude would send him roaring with rage before the main course was even served, Narcissa's docile and refined mannerisms were well-suited to keeping the situation level. With time, she had even come to find that she rather enjoyed conversing with him on the wars between Muggles and wizards in which his father, Lucius's grandfather, had fought.

Even more off-point was Bella's conclusion of Lucius or, as she referred to him, "the stupid Malfoy boy". Narcissa often chided herself for ever believing her sisters' tales of Lucius; they were so biased, grossly exaggerated to present Lucius as the despicable villain while keep Bellatrix and/or Andromeda the innocent heroes. Looking back, it was really quite laughable. Lucius was quite manipulative when he wanted something (who wasn't?) but he was _not_ devious and conniving. He was cocky and arrogant, perhaps more than Narcissa thought was good for him, but certainly _not_ egotistical. He also was _not_ a chauvinist. Lucius thought quite highly of women and saw no reason why they should not be considered equal to men in intellect, if not physical strength. He had been delighted to discover that his wife had received top marks in her Arithmancy class at N.E.W.T. level and had allowed her to take over the keeping of accounts for their estate. Many an evening he could be found sitting at her feet, head in her lap, keeping her company while she tallied off monthly expenses. Bellatrix had used many other crude adjectives and expressions that, if Mother had heard, would have sent her to the bathroom spitting out soapy foam. As it was, Narcissa had already told her, quite coldly, to keep her opinions to herself. Lucius Malfoy had many faults; he was not perfect but he was gentle and affectionate, and Narcissa wanted nothing more than to live out the rest of her days comfortably by his side.

The only one her sister had been right about was Abril nee Rosier Malfoy. Her dark eyes matched her black heart. She had a most condescending air about her and found fault in everyone. Her beady eyes seemed to see everything; her nails would clench like talons to grip the specimen under scrutiny. Narcissa tried her best to please her mother-in-law but only Lucius's presence ever appeared to sedate her foulness. Why the woman had insisted that her son marry a Black when she was determined to find a blunder in the chosen bride regardless of her surname was beyond Narcissa's comprehension. Though she would never tell Bellatrix – and certainly not Lucius – she rather agreed whole-heartedly that Abril was, to quote her sister, worse than Baba Yaga.

"I'm sorry about him, Cissy." Bella murmured, snapping Narcissa out of her thoughts. She was gazing at her younger sister apologetically and a bit awkwardly – gentle sisterly affection was not really Bellatrix's strong point.

"Who?" Narcissa asked, slightly confused and wondering if she had missed something important from Bella's rant. In response, Bellatrix glanced down pointedly at her stomach.

"Oh." She placed a hand over her empty womb, blinking away fresh tears that pricked behind her eyes. "Yes. Well, it wasn't going to be a 'he', Bella. It was a 'she'. We were going to have a beautiful baby girl." Her throat clenched painfully and she blinked furiously to fight a new wave of tears.

"How do you know? Did you check when it…"

Narcissa shook her head. "I knew from before, when I was still carrying."

"How? There is no way you could have known."

"Oh, you know," she began in a dismissing sort of tone but, realizing that Bellatrix in fact _didn't_ know, she finished rather lamely, "I just…know – mother's intuition."

Bella was about to retort on the absolute vagueness and utter lack of validity of this conclusion when she heard the main door open. The sisters quieted, listening as a deep voice murmured from the doorway, words unintelligible but from the responding squeak they could deduce that the man was addressing the house elf, Dobby. Bella stiffened visibly but Narcissa appeared perfectly at ease as she sat up straighter, gazing towards the doorway to the room in which they currently sat expectantly. When he walked in, a small smiled played at his lips and he immediately scanned the room for his wife. Upon seeing his dark-haired visitor, he jerked to a halt and his expression darkened to one of barely suppressed abhorrence.

"Bellatrix," he greeted her in a cool drawl, and Bella could detect the underlying sneer he would not dare show in front of her sister. She turned up her nose to peer at him haughtily. "I didn't realize you would be visiting so late. Is there something wrong with your own arrangements? Or have you found your place tak-"

"Lucius."

The voice was softer than a whisper and yet Lucius silenced immediately and turned his grey eyes towards his wife. His facial features shifted, immediately dropping the cold mask to reveal a look of gentle adoration beneath.

No words passed between them but Bellatrix had the distinct feeling that a message heavy with meaning was passing between them. Lucius swallowed visibly, face a solid mask as he held out a hand to her. Obediently, Narcissa shifted away from her sister and, hand still on her belly, she floated across the room to fold herself into Lucius's arms. There, held tightly in his embrace, Narcissa began to cry in earnest again. Ignoring Bellatrix's hardened and unwavering gaze, Lucius gripped her waist and pressed his face against her hair, murmuring quietly to her. Bellatrix was dumbfounded when she realized that he was crying, too – not the heart-wrenching, body-shaking sobs of her sister but a slow and silent slow of tears. Any other time, Bellatrix would have leaped at the chance to humiliate Lucius – it was such an obvious display of weak emotion – but she found that she couldn't. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, feeling less like a goading star student and more like the third wheel or peeping Tom.

Unnoticed by either, Bellatrix crept towards the fireplace. Something ugly was scratching in her belly; a dark, ugly emotion she did not like. She blamed it on the ridiculous pairing before her, on the emotions that tugged her in polar directions: to love the wife so much and hate the husband so viciously? And yet, the two would never part; she must always see the loved and the hated together, and she would have to tolerate it as best as she could – for Cissy's sake. Bellatrix grabbed a fistful of the dark powder from the crystal dish and softly spoke the words so that she may return home. Bright purple flames flicked around her, and through them she could just make out Narcissa disentangling herself from her husband to press a fierce kiss to his mouth, apparently oblivious to the fact that her sister had just left…

When Rodolphus greeted her with an indignant scowl and a kiss that clearly stated he wanted to continue their previous activities, Bella found that she had a nasty taste in her mouth. For the first time ever, she wanted what Narcissa had. For the first time ever, she was jealous of her little sister.

* * *

****edited****


	53. July 1978: Avada Kedavra

The bitch was huddled in the corner, trembling as she gazed up at the face of death. Her damp fur hung in muddy clumps around her body. Her teats were swollen, her belly bulging with the burden she was carrying. Life on the streets had been a harsh punishment; begging for scraps may have been just enough to keep her alive but it wouldn't sustain five more mewling young mouths.

"_You have to want it. You have to mean it."_

She bowed her head submissively, dark eyes empty, soulless. There was no light within those eyes. There was no hope. Hope had abandoned her long ago. A fragile, flickering flame balancing precariously atop the wick of a candle, Hope had been blown out by the breath of Despair. Life was a filthy hell hole and there was no point in fighting through anymore. She's so thin, all hollow and sunken in. You can see every rib curving around her chest, all in a row. Her spine juts out so that you can count all the little bumps of it, like a necklace of pearls strung across her back.

"_Say it. Say the words."_

Despite her impoverished condition, there is a ghost of the beloved pet hiding deep within her. You can see it in her eyes, her deep dull brown eyes that are silently asking "when did the world become so unkind?" When did people stop caring? Where is the reservoir of strength to keep going when there is nothing left? The love of yesterday was nothing more but a memory, fleetingly dancing across the mind, and it's like living off a dream. She used to live the dream; she used to have everything. But now rotten corpses were the jewels scattered on the palace floor. Now innocent blood was the paint with which you tainted your lips. Now petrified screams of the tortured was the music to which you waltzed.

"_Is this what you call strength?"_

A spark of annoyance alights within you because you _are _strong, you _are _powerful, you _are_ valuable. You grip your wand a little harder, you raise your chin a little higher, you square your shoulders with a little more resolve. Just do it. Just do it. Just do it.

_Hesitation._

You wonder about that creature before you, as the mind will wander at times such as this. Did love once fill out that skeleton? Did freedom once brighten those eyes? Could she remember a time when there were no rules, no consequences, no problems? Was she once a treasure in a home, with awards and pedigree speckled with stars? Does she deserve this? Or had she been fooled by some wicked trickery lurking in the dark? Had she been fed the poison of lies to lure her out into the open and snatched up for some dark purpose? Had she scratched at the bars, tugged at the chains, howled through the night, yearning to return to the family that had loved her so?

"_Pathetic. What use is it to hold so much potential if you are going to fail at every turn for foolishness."_

Had she?

"_I have no use for a servant who will cower before inferiors."_

Had she?

"_I have no use…"_

Had she?

"…_for your miserable weakness."_

No.

You snap. Your blood runs cold. A chill through your spine, a roaring through your ears. You can do it now. Yes, you can. Because the bitch wasn't a prisoner. Because the bitch hadn't been snatched or lost. Because the bitch had _chosen_ that life; she wanted to live on the streets, to turn her lot in with the filthy mutts that ran amuck through the alleys. She had traded in a glittering coat of diamonds for matted rags of mud.

You raise your wand, open your mouth. No hesitation because you are _not_ weak, you are strong. You will show them; you will show him; you will show her.

A flash of green: it prances off the walls in an eerie dance like an imp delighting in some malevolent cause. A high cry: it's a pitiful sound, high and weak but sharp to the heart, like a needle piercing through skin. A coldness: the warmth of a soul was waning, slipping right through outstretched fingers, irreversible, as silent and foreboding as wisps of smoke. A shout of triumph: the voice is so distant to your ears and you can't tell if it was a man or a woman who uttered it.

"_Excellent. I think we can try a Muggle next week."_

Praise. But you can't find the appropriate response. Then, alone, you let your hands fall upon shaking knees, retching. Your mouth dries, your throat clenches, your gut twists. You know that feeling and you heave again.

You're not sure if it's guilt or remorse that splatters a mess on the floor.


	54. March 1979: Brother Fighting Brother

There was a loud knock on her door early that Monday morning. Andromeda sighed. She rarely got visitors on Mondays because everyone was out at work and she took the opportunity to give the house a thorough cleaning (it was on Monday mornings that she really missed having a house elf). Wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, she made sure that all of the inanimate objects had returned to being inanimate (it would _not_ do to have Mrs. Hihgam catch sight of a sponge independently wiping the dirt off of the frying pan). As soon as she had opened the door wide enough to allow in the young man waiting impatiently on the other side, arms flung themselves around her middle and she nearly lost her balance.

"What – oof – Sirius – honestly, we aren't-"

"It's nice to see you, too, Dromeda!" Sirius laughed. He gave her another huge squeeze before releasing her. He chuckled warmly.

"Well, I certainly believed people would be attacking me for my loyalty but I never though it would be you." She teased, beckoning him in. She was happy to see her cousin, even if her groaning ribs were not.

"I wanted to pass by and let you know that the flat is all done!" He puffed out his chest proudly as Andromeda proceeded to congratulate him. "Prongs and Lily – they are getting married, by the way, did you hear? Lily finally told him yes, haha! Anyways, they came by and helped me put some colour to it – Lily's idea. She's great help; I like having her on our side." He laughed loudly. "Also, I wanted to show you somethi-"

"Uncle Sirius!"

Sirius whirled around, beaming up at the little girl running down the stairs, barreling into his outstretched arms.

"Hey, Dora! How're you doing? Merlin's beard!" He exclaimed as he hoisted her up. "You're getting big! How old are you turning again?"

"Five!" She answered proudly, flashing a palm in his face with all the fingers stretched out straight. "And look – ahh!" She opened her mouth to reveal the scarlet gap between the large front tooth and the incisor.

"You lost a tooth!"

"Yeah, and the Tooth Fairy left me a sickle!"

Sirius's smile wavered slightly as his eyes knitted in puzzlement.

"The who fairy?"

"Not the Hoo Fairy – the_ Tooth_ Fairy!"

"Erm, Dora, there's no such thing as a-"

"Sirius!" Andromeda barked, throwing him a warning look. He cleared his throat.

"Er, the tooth fairy, yes, right. So, erm, you got a sickle, did you? How does this fairy work then? You think you can tell her about me – I could use some money."

The girl giggled and explained, "She leaves you money every time you lose a tooth! You have to put it under your pillow and then when you are sleeping she comes in through the window and takes your tooth and leaves you a sickle!"

"This tooth lady sounds kind of creepy to me." Sirius muttered to his cousin as Nymphadora ran back up the stairs.

"Ted's idea," Andromeda said with a shrug. "That and some Sana Cause man for Christmas. Don't ask," she added upon Sirius's raised eyebrows. "Muggles have odd traditions. What did you want to show me?"

"Look," Sirius reached into his pocket, pulling out a square piece of paper. As he handed it to her with an unnecessary flair, a smug expression on his face, Andromeda thought he looked exactly like Nymphadora when she was showing off some painting or, as Sirius had just seen, her first lost tooth; it was with an air of proud achievement and with every expectation for others to recognize this audibly. She took the square parchment in her fingers and realized that it was a photograph. A group of fifteen people stood bunched together, smiling up at her. She recognized every single one of them; they had all been to her home at one point or another, though not many of them came to call for personal or friendly matters. Her eyes were immediately drawn to Sirius, beaming out from the glossy photograph, standing tall beside James Potter, who had his arm looped around the red-headed Evans. On the other side of the group stood Benjy, smiling warmly and waving at her. He stood there in solitude, and Andromeda felt a slightly guilty at refusing to let Ted go to the last meeting; the two men should have been able to smile and wave at her from left corner of the photo together, an older and more reasonable version of the reckless pair beaming from the right corner.

Sirius frowned in disappointment at Andromeda's silence. It was obvious that this was not the reaction he expected. He was slightly put out at the lack of thrilled enthusiasm and shower of praise.

"Well, don't look so excited." Sirius said sarcastically.

"Marlene McKinnon was killed just four days ago." Andromeda pointed to a pretty witch with a kind face and long brown hair. She was only a couple of years older than Andromeda. "Most of her family is gone, too. And the Bones," she pointed to a couple towards the back, a wizard and a witch who were holding hands, "have gone into hiding – what's left of them, anyways. This is serious; it's not one of your silly little games."

"You don't think I know that? You don't think I know what's at stake here? I'm not a _child_!"

"But you are thinking like one! You aren't invincible, Sirius! The organization Death Eaters will stop at nothing to get what they want. People are _dying_ everyday. Do you think I want Ted to come home one day and tell me you've been killed?"

"I suppose I'll just have to kill them before they get to me." Sirius argued, almost indifferently. It was obvious that the possibility of death was not seen as a very critical shortcoming.

"My sister is one of them!" She snapped. Sirius lowered his gaze and gave an odd sort of shrug. Instantly, Andromeda knew what that meant: Bellatrix wasn't _his_ sister. He owed her nothing. He had ceased to call any of _them_ family the moment he walked out the door of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. He could duel them or kill them without remorse, without hesitation because he had severed all ties.

"What about your brother, Sirius? Will you be able to kill Regulus, too?"

"He hasn't picked a side yet." Sirius answered quickly. She noticed that it didn't answer her question.

"Your mother won't let her other son become a liberal and you know it. It'll be easier for her, now that you are out of his sphere of influence, to mold him to how she wants."

"Are you saying that my brother is going to become a Death Eater?" He demanded.

"I'm saying that it's a likely possibility and you need to acknowledge it before you go running off on some rash folly!"

"This isn't some stupid stab at glory, Andromeda! I have too thought it through! And if that's what he decides – if he's stupid enough to let Mum – he would have chosen his side, then, won't he?" Sirius's tone was bitter but he didn't quite meet Andromeda's eyes as he said it. She knew he was just trying to appear indifferent, that he _wanted_ to be indifferent. But the truth was that the idea of meeting a family member in a duel, as an opponent instead of a second, was more than just a little disconcerting.

"I'm not giving up on the war front." Sirius continued with more resolve. "I'm staying in the Order. I am not going to let the Dark Lord take over."

"Sirius, the Death Eaters are just fighting to preserve the old wizarding traditions and-"

"Antediluvian traditions that are coming to an end! Society has _evolved_, Andromeda, and the politics have to match that. The conservatives hate change; that is not my fault!"

"They are _afraid _of change."

"Change is inevitable! Stop pitying them! They aren't the victims! Go pick up the _Prophet_; go listen to the rumours; go ask all the people who are terrified to leave their houses! The prejudice support the Conservative party, and the Conservative party supports the Death Eaters."

"Regulus is conservative!"

"Then he is one of them!" Sirius roared, throwing up his hands. Andromeda stepped back, startled. Sirius was fuming; he turned away from her, running his fingers through his hair, and aimed a kick at the wall in agitation. His foot made contact with a deep, resounding _thud_.

"You can't kill him, Sirius," Andromeda said softly after several moments of uncomfortable silence. He kept his back towards her. Then, in a voice that bordered a plea, she added, "He's your brother."

Sirius finally turned to face her. His eyes had lost all of the previous excitement and fury; now, he just looked conflicted. He hesitated before replying.

"I know."

OoO oOo OoO

She hadn't been expecting any visitors that Monday night. The only person she knew who would arrive at such a late hour through the fireplace in the drawing room unannounced was Bellatrix - but Lucius would hardly be conversing with his sister-in-law in such amiable tones. From her location in the library, she could hardly distinguish the identity of Lucius's guest; the most she was able to conclude, as she glided down the cool marble steps with her hand trailing across the smooth railing, was that the low mumbles belonged to a man.

"Lucius? Lucius, who is there with you? You did not tell me that we were going to have com- Regulus!"

Narcissa came to a halt at the doorway. By this time, both her husband and cousin had turned to face the north entrance to the drawing room expectantly. Lucius appeared rather pleased with something but Narcissa dismissed it as due to an achievement at the Ministry. It was the condition in which Regulus had come to her home that grabbed her attention and sent a foreboding sense that something was very, very wrong. He looked ill and feverish; his skin was taut against his face and was tinted gray. His mouth, contorted into a tight grimace, sat beneath a pair of dark eyes that were sullen, almost ashamed, like someone filled with regret.

"Regulus?" She called to him uncertainly. His body twitched, something half-way between a nod and a shrug. She supposed that this was about as much as she was going to get in way of an acknowledgment; his eyes were now fixated on her feet.

"Regge, is…is everything okay?" Narcissa reached out her right hand to place it gently on his left arm. Though he did not move away, he jerked sharply upon contact, and she frowned. She wondered why he was still wearing his coat when the house was so warm. His thick woolen coat was huge on his thin frame, falling past his knees with sleeves that kissed his palms.

"It's alright, Cissa, everyone feels like this at first. It's all a bit overwhelming." Narcissa glanced up briefly at her husband to see him place a firm hand on Regulus's shoulder. "Come on, kid. The shock will wear off once you have something in your stomach. Dobby will bring you a shot of firewhiskey. Dobby. Damn it, where is that elf? Dobby!"

At the mention of the house elf, Narcissa's concern towards her cousin flitted to the back of her mind.

"Oh, he might be in the cellar punishing himself."

"What in Merlin's name has he done now?"

"He broke several of the water goblets that the Rosiers gave us as a wedding gift. You know the one: goblin made and imported from Peru. The set is useless now, of course."

Lucius flushed with discomfiture. As the Malfoy house elf, it was his name that was connected with the eptitude of the elf. It was common knowledge that was house elf was an integrated part of the family and, therefore, represented the wizarding family as a whole.

"Well then, I still don't understand why he isn't answering me – Dobby!" Lucius raised his voice in agitation.

"I'm afraid that would be my fault." She hoped he caught the slight apologetic edge in her voice. "I told him that I did not want to see him for the rest of the evening. I was rather put out when I said it," she added, upon seeing Lucius's expression of exasperation.

"If he is _my_ elf, shouldn't he obey _my_ orders over yours?" He drawled. Narcissa bit back a giggle. Above all else, Lucius despised appearing as if he had less power than another; though Narcissa had mastered the art of teasing anything she wanted out of him, the struggle for dominance had to be covert in order to avoid hurting Lucius's rather sensitive ego.

"He knows better than to disobey me right now."

Lucius swept from the room with a small sigh, muttering under his breath about the uselessness of his elf. The smile that lingered on Narcissa' lips faded away as she once more brought her full attention to her cousin, who had barely moved an inch throughout the entire interaction.

"Regulus, tell me what's wrong. What happened? What did Lucius mean just then when he sa- sorry?"

The boy had mumbled something - or rather, his lips had parted and twitched. Between them, Narcissa had made out the pale pink muscle of a tongue as it flicked behind his front teeth to form a syllable; however, she had made out no intelligible word. With a hard swallow, the boy tried opened his mouth to croak, "Bathroom." Narcissa frowned.

"Oh – yes – of course. Out that door, make a left – it'll be the second door to your right." She had barely finished giving these instructions when Regulus barreled past her. She blinked, startled speechless as Regulus's long legs carried him swiftly through the west door, a hand over his mouth as if her were desperately trying to keep something in…

Please, not on the Croatian spun rug, she pleaded silently as the corner of his robes whipped out of sight.

Narcissa was sitting on the leather couch when Regulus strolled back into the room. He was still quite pale, she noted, but at least gray was no longer a pigment spotting his skin tone. He had finally taken off his coat (it must have been terribly uncomfortable to kneel beside the porcelain latrine with that bulky thing on) and he paused by the chair to sling the item over its high back with an extension of his left arm and a flick of his wrist. And that's when she saw it, glaring at her from where it was etched across his pale skin.

"Regulus," she called sharply, and he flinched. "_What_ is _that_?"

For a second, he just stared down at the figure under question. Then he slapped his right hand across his left forearm, as if obscuring it from view would stop the hundreds of accusations running across his cousin's mind. It didn't work; black ink bled into her sight through the gaps between his splayed fingers.

"Lucius has one, too." He said defiantly, sounding much braver than he appeared.

Yes, and it makes about as great a décor as a portrait of Great Aunt Belvina when we are making love, she thought bitterly but did not repeat it aloud. She and Regulus had come to a comfortable companionship but they were not yet so intimate.

"Why?" She said instead.

He shrugged, face falling into a well-practiced mask. He lowered himself into the chair on the back of which hung his coat. Though he shifted slightly to make himself more comfortable, his posture remained quite rigid. Narcissa pursed her lips. She knew that he in fact did have an answer to her a question, and a rather complex one at that. She also knew that no amount of screaming and cursing could ever pry more than an irritating shrug out of him.

"Regulus, people die in this war." He nodded in response to her gentle tone but showed no intentions of answering verbally. She continued.

"You can't kill him.

"I don't have a choice, Cissa." Regulus croaked. "If he asks me…if he makes me…I don't have a choice."

Narcissa studied him in silence. He was trembling slightly and looked as if he might be sick again. His skin looked clammy now, and she really hoped Lucius would hurry up with that elf because she wasn't really sure how long her cousin was going to last.

"He's your brother." She whispered, almost to herself. But in the silence of the room, her quiet statement drifted to his ears. Regulus let his head drop onto a trembling hand. Though his voice was muffled, she heard his pained response clearly.

"I know."


	55. October 1979: Keep Reaching On

The large king-sized bed sits in the center of the bedroom, a revered shrine of love. The thick blue comforter blocks out the chill that has gathered on the windowpane, pressed up against the glass. Here among the white mountains of pillows, responsibility drifts away. Here underneath the satin sea of sheets, time is not of essence.

She turns onto her side, eyes still closed and lips still smiling. The feel of new silk on naked skin makes her toes curl, and the lingering heat of passion makes her skin tingle and glow. Her heart sings; her soul dances. And here, in this warm paradise of ecstasy, she knows he is with her – her friend, her lover, whom nothing could take away from her because love is a powerful and splendid thing. She shifts to press into his embrace, and she reaches for his arm…reaches…reaches…reaches…

The coldness of reality nips at her fingertips as her hand falls over the edge.


	56. January 1980: Tick Tock

The digital clock on the nightstand tells him it is past three in the morning but he can not sleep. He is lying there beside her, watching her sleep, thinking it is the most beautiful sight in the world. Something – is it the clock or his heart? – is counting the seconds, the slow, agonizing beats of the world. He holds his breath, wondering if he will make it to the next one. Fear creeps onto him, a great terrible fear that comes to you when you face the unknown. How long will he have to gaze down upon this beauty? What will he do when he can no longer watch her? In a silence, he scrutinizes every contour, every dip, every line on that smooth, clear landscape; he wants to commit her face to memory.

Tick. Tock.

Someone shouted that they had been discovered. A child's voice rises, pure terror, the screaming flute disharmonized from the shrieking of glass against the tiled floor. Feet pounded on the floor, _bum bum bum_, in synchrony with the drumming of the heart, _thrum thrum thrum_. Fingers groped, frantically searched in confusion for a partner, for a friendly hand that would offer a small comfort, a small piece of stability in the running and the screaming. Voices filled the air: angry, menacing, terrified, malicious. And in the background, softly counting, there was the measured sound of the clock that hung above the granf pianoforte that now lay in shambles.

Tick. Tock.

Her dark curls tumble around her bare shoulders, framing her face and fanning across the pillow. Her full lashes lace her eyelids, resting against cheeks tinted with warmth. Her thin lips are curled slightly, a small serene smile. She looks angelic and peaceful. Fair Andromeda! His darling, his love, his everything! He had tasted of the forbidden fruit and loved it and now craved it, needed it. He begs for time to stop, so that he can hold on to her forever. It defies him.

Tick. Tock.

Everyone was running, fueled by panic. The cloaked figures were merciless, pursuing and attacking. The world was spinning and time seemed to be racing. Walls crumbled, bangs filled the air, streaks of bright light blazed across the sitting room. There was a haze and there was no distinction between enemy and friendly fire; terror distorted everything. Then suddenly, everything slowed and everyone paused to look. The world quieted for two seconds, and all you could hear was your own breathing and the clock.

Tick. Tock.

Suddenly, she is slipping from his view, falling under the sheets.

Tick.

A man screamed and fell to the ground beside a figure of a woman, splayed and unmoving.

Tock.

He scrambles to grab her, to clutch at her frame and hold her to him but her soft curls smoke around his fingers and her body glides out of his arms.

Tick.

The woman's body lay on the ground, eyes glassy and mouth warped into a half-scream. No sound escaped her lips.

Tock.

With each blink she is disappearing and he is ruffling through the sheets now, terrified, and he opens his mouth to scream for her.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock.

"Ted! Ted, please wake up! Ted, love, wake up, it isn't real, it isn't real!"

Ted's eyelids snap open. He's gasping for breath, the whites of his eyes prominent, and his skin is damp from sweat. Beside him, his wife Andromeda peers down at him with concern.

"It was just a dream, Ted."

For a moment he just stares at her, disbelieving. Then, finally, he finds himself clutching her and buring his fae in her neck. She presses him to her body, trying to suppress the well of tears and the choking sobs; she has to be strong now.

"I'm right here, Ted, I am alrightl. Nothing is going to happen. You aren't Edgar, we aren't the Bones. Sh, sh, Ted, I am here. I am right here."


	57. February 1980: I Give it as a Warning

Druella lowered her gaze to her daughter's swollen belly. Something in her expression warned Narcissa that there was nothing particularly pleasant about the older woman's thoughts. Protectively, she wrapped her hands around her stomach, as if she could physically block all negativity from reaching her unborn child.

"Is it a son or a daughter that you are giving Lucius?"

"We're having a boy," Narcissa responded coolly. She knew her mother didn't mean to be rude but sometimes her age really came across in her word choice, especially in the topic of marriage and women. In the late 1900s, there was a big difference between an arranged marriage and an approved one.

"Is that what the Healers say?"

"That is what _I_ say."

Druella sighed and let the remark be. It was no secret that Druella thought Narcissa's claimed intuition was complete folly. After all, she herself had believed in carrying a male heir for over half of her term. It was not until eight months into her pregnancy that the Healers had told her that her first child was a girl, not a boy. Regardless of her mother's skepticism, Narcissa clung to her intuition adamantly and refused to see a Healer unless either she or the baby was ill. Her prognosis was good enough for Lucius, and that was good enough for her.

"I think, deep down, I always hoped for daughters." Druella's eyes were still on her daughter's baby bump but her gaze was very distant. "Even in the face of my parents' disappointment and your father's resentment, I was always relieved when the Healers would hand me a screaming bundle of pink. Where are all the proud mothers of those sons, hm? Where are the trophies, now all grown, they so arrogantly displayed? I may not have been proud when you and your sisters were handed to me but at least I have something to hold on to and something to show for my efforts now."

Narcissa's brow furrowed when she asked, "Mother, what are you talking about?"

Druella blinked and looked up. There was a look of pity in her eyes that made Narcissa wary. She had seen her mother show a multitude of emotions in her life: happiness, contentedness, sorrow, sympathy, disappointment, anger (though never to a degree that could break her calm disposition) – never _pity_.

"Narcissa, war demands sacrifices. Where did you suppose all the soldiers come from? Those men are husbands, sons, brothers of _someone_."

Narcissa looked away from her mother. She remembered how pale and frail Regulus appeared that night when was had come knocking on his door, how very much like a boy he looked. A boy, just a boy, not near old enough to go into battle. The horror that her mother was suggesting made her brain go fuzzy, made her head a bit hazy. What nightmare would it be to give life to such a tiny thing, to raise him and love him, only to have to watch him go to his death? The very idea made her stomach churn.

"Are you saying that my son is going to be killed off in this war?"

"I am saying that it is a possibility you need to prepare yourself for."

"This war will be long over before my son is of any age to be of use to it." Narcissa's tone was perhaps too cold but the topic of conversation had turned onto a path that was inappropriate for tea time by anyone's standards.

"Oh, my darling," Druella sighed sadly, shaking her head, "this whole ordeal has only just begun. War will come again, and then you'll have no choice but to hand over what is due to it. The young are always the first to go. And you, my dear, will wait on the side lines, watching everything, picking up the pieces and holding what is left behind together. Sometimes I do wonder if that is worse: to sit by and watch it all play out without being able to do anything about it. It does feel one with a sense of helplessness. Alas, that is woman's role. Well," she laughed drily, "unless of course you ask Bellatrix. Is she really as involved in the war as the rumours suggest?" Druella's eyes were sharp and calculating over her teacup.

"I do not know what Bella gets up to nowadays," Narcissa responded smoothly. "She has never been one to disclose much of her personal life to me, and I do not feel the need to ask."

Druella made a scoffing sound that indicated she didn't believe a word of this for a second. It wasn't entirely true. Narcissa did not actively seek information about her sister's position and doings, especially if it involved the civil war in any way. She just knew so many people that were actively involved in the effort – she was as close as one could get to the conservative war effort without being actively and directly involved. She was wife, sister, sister-in-law, cousin, and distant cousin to several Death Eaters; how could she not know what was occurring?

She missed living in ignorance. It was her safety blanket and made life that much simpler.

Narcissa rubbed her bulging stomach subconsciously, passing over the distorted lump on the right that could only be her little one's foot over and over. Lucius had assured her that once the war was over, things would be easier for them. Society and politics would be as it was before, appealing to and ruled by the higher class, the real wizarding community. They were on the right side, the winning side. Their son would be a prince, the riches of the world his for the taking. How could her mother know what the future would bring? How could she know about the war when she wanted no part of it? Druella, who showed no enthusiasm during the initial tension and whose lack of comments clearly displayed her disapproval for its onset, was in no position to make predictions of the path of politics. Narcissa leaned back into her chair, convinced that her child would have nothing to fear. It was not an impossible scenario but so improbable that she was sure time would come to pass to disprove her mother's remark.

Narcissa jumped when she felt a hand close over her own. She looked up into her mother's face, smiling sadly, in pity, at her.

"I have upset you."

"No," Narcissa said but she looked away and slipped her hands out from beneath her mother's fingers. Even she could hear the lie in her voice.

"I apologize. That was not my intention. I only wished to draw this to your attention, to make you see reality as it is." Druella extended a hand to tuck a lock of blonde hair behind Narcissa's ear.

"You don't know what will happen, Mother," Narcissa said softly.

"You are right, I do not," Druella replied. "These are only my speculations. But I know enough of the world to know that men are rarely ever satisfied. And," she hesitated, casting a quick glance at the door before continuing, "I do not know your opinions of the situation but this…man who goes by Lord…Lord Voldemort," the room suddenly became cold as both women tensed, wary behind well-practiced blank expressions. "He is not to be trusted. His campaign has gone too far; he is too radical. This is not what Britain needs."

There was an extremely tense pause as Narcissa regarded her mother. Druella Rosier Black was not a woman to discuss her emotions or opinions. She dealt with things silently and taught her daughters how to do so. It came as an extremely unwelcomed surprise; the last thing Narcissa wanted was to begin discussing politics when the government was so unstable. Times were dangerous, even for the elite, now that civil war had broken out. When suspicion runs high, fingers start flying. Didn't her mother know better than to put certain thoughts into words?

"That is a pretty heavy opinion, Mother."

"I give it as a warning."

"Well, you should be careful," Narcissa said, taking care to make sure her tone was light. "One might mistake you for a liberal."

"I was under the impression that family ties would still be a strongly held value," Druella snapped. "Am I to expect the same treatment as Andromeda?"

The name of her disowned sister shocked Narcissa. No one ever mentioned her. People were far more content in acting as if she never existed. This had allowed her to suppress all of the dark emotions that she associated with the situation and get on with her life. The mention of her name stirred up too much collected dust for Narcissa's liking, and she was eager to move away from the subject. She swallowed down a snarky comment and settled for, "I give it as a warning" before lowering her eyes to the rim of her teacup. This is why you never bring up politics, she thought drily, taking a sip of the drink.

The clank of china made Narcissa look up. Her mother was rising to her feet, looking stern and slightly offended.

"Well, I really should be going. Your father will be expecting me to accompany him to London."

Narcissa rose swiftly to her feet but Druella was already pulling her cloak around her shoulders and gliding to the fireplace. Whether this tale had any truth in it or not, Narcissa knew that her words were driving her mother out of her house. She felt a little ashamed of her behaviour (she had been raised to have more poise after all) but she could not deny the twinge of relief. The two women embraced stiffly and exchanged farewells. Frowning slightly, hands clutching her belly, Narcissa watched as her mother released a fistful of powder. The fire roared to life, purple flames licking up the chimney. Then they quieted, and Druella was gone.

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****edited****


	58. June 1980: Snarls

Bellatrix Lestrange sat poised in a chair just outside one of the large private maternity wards at St. Mungo's. Her hands were folded in her lap, her wand lying across her knees, her black curls piled up on her head. She sat in that chair still as a statue, apparently calm and collected. The only signs of movement were the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. And her eyes: her dark eyes were fixated on Lucius Malfoy, who had recently taken up pacing the small hallway.

It was Malfoy who had paid for this private ward. It was Malfoy who had paid for the best of everything: best room, best healers, best care, best attention. All the money spent, however, Bellatrix noted darkly, would not reduce the pain.

Narcissa's cries of pain penetrated the walls dividing the rooms and the hallway in which Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange now waited. Each time, Malfoy would pause and glance anxiously at the door before resuming his relentless pacing. And still Bellatrix watched, unmoving.

Nobody watching could have guessed how incensed Bellatrix Lestrange actually was. Each of Cissy's screams were needles stabbed into her heart. All her life, Bellatrix had kept an eye on little Cissy, making sure she was never hurt, always trying to shelter her from pain. It was hard to stop thinking Narcissa as a girl. Even at twenty-one, Narcissa Malfoy was still – and would always be – little Cissy to Bellatrix. It was due to this mindset, and perhaps Bellatrix's sharp nature, that she had always taken it upon herself to directly cause detrimental harm to anyone who hurt her little sister.

Now was no exception.

It took everything in Bellatrix's power to not claw Malfoy's eyes out. He was, after all, the ultimate cause of her sister's pain. He had planted the spawn within her. Bellatrix tried to keep the disgust off her face as another cry rang out. And still her eyes followed the blond man – back and forth, back and forth.

How she loathed this marriage! How she despised having to share her little sister with this man whom she had hated! She had hated watching as their father handed her away, hated knowing that this man would run his filthy hands over her little sister's body, hated that this was how it had to be – hated that she could do nothing about it. Her hands twitched in her lap, itching for her wand. It would be so easy to eliminate the problem, here and now… just one little spell.

Narcissa's last cry, the loudest and longest of them all, pierced the air once more. This distracted Bellatrix just enough for her to realize her short-mindedness. She reflected upon her miscalculations. What to do with the Malfoy spawn? Lucius Malfoy may have planted it within Cissy but this little thing was the butt of her agony.

A healer opened the door of the ward, congratulating the pair on the new member – a son, a nephew. Lucius asked about the mother. "Cissy" he called her. The nickname set Bellatrix's emotions roaring, and she gnashed her teeth together. How _dare_ he call Narcissa by her baby name, the name only her parents, close relatives, Bellatrix, and –

But she couldn't bear to even think of the other's name.

Malfoy disappeared into the room, and the healer looked expectantly at the woman who had remained in the chair. Bellatrix rose stiffly and made her way to Narcissa's private room. Her dislike for the child she had not yet seen grew with each step, knowing that she could _never_ love anything that shared any remote relations with Lucius Malfoy.

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**AN: would love feedback because i am not sure how i stand with this one. a Narcissa POV on the same topic is coming up later**


	59. January 1981: Auntie Influence

**this one might get pulled down, renovated and then put back up. it goes before the last chapter posted but i wanted opinions and (if anyone has any) suggestions because i am not 100% happy with it.**

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The doorbell sounded, an irritatingly shrill summons.

"Oh, that'll be Aprilette coming tea. I completely forgot I had invited her!" Narcissa groaned, making a face as she glanced in the direction of the front door. Across from her, seated comfortably on the leather couch, Bellatrix raised an eyebrow.

"Aprilette? The little prat that will be marrying Parkinson? What are you having her over for tea for? She's not even Pureblood: her great grandmother was a Muggleborn." It was clear from her tone that this was not an agreeable status.

"I ran into her while I was shopping in London yesterday. I could not leave without extending an invitation, it would not have been polite. Besides, she's Parkinson's fiancé, and Parkinson is my friend."

"You know they are only getting married because she's pregnant, right?"

"You don't know that, Bella," Narcissa said with a sigh. Gracefully, she rose from her chair, balancing Draco on her hip. She passed a hand over her robes, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles.

"Don't I?" challenged Bella. "You wait until the wedding; ten galleons says she'll be showing. He needs to be careful where he's sticking it next time!"

"Hush, Bella!" Narcissa chided, just as the doorbell rang again. "Here," she thrusted Draco into her arms, and Bellatrix's smug expression quickly became bewildered. "I don't want her touching and breathing all over him. She doesn't like _you_, so as long as you are holding Draco, he'll be safe." She kissed the little boy's pale head before cooing, "Mommy will be back in two seconds, okay Draco?" Then she turned her gaze to her sister, and when she addressed Bellatrix, it was in a very different voice.

"Mind he does not start crying." With a final loving look at her son, Narcissa turned and left the room. This, of course, did not go unnoticed by the infant, who began to fuss almost instantly. Bellatrix groaned. Narcissa always got bratty when things did not go her way but ever since Draco had been born, she could become downright intimidating. Bellatrix was not afraid of her sister, exactly, but she most certainly did not want to have to face the cold fury that had recently developed within Narcissa. Awkwardly, she bounced her nephew, clucking to him like she had seen Narcissa do.

"Draco, Draco, it's okay. Your mom will be back soon."

"Mamamama," blubbered Draco. His bottom lip was trembling and his torso was leaning away from his aunt, stretching towards the door through which his mother had disappeared; he looked dangerously close to tears, and that was just unacceptable.

"Hey! You heard your mother: no tears! Besides, Blacks don't cry, and it's my job, as your aunt, to turn you into a respectable Black...even if you don't look much like one."

Draco peered up at her with big grey eyes. He was still pouting but he had quieted. Bellatrix smiled down at him. His eyes had taken Narcissa's shape, even if they were in Lucius's colour, and the shape was effective in making the boy appear innocent and harmless, just like it had given that appearance to his mother.

"That's better. Just wait calmly for your mother. She'll be back… with that hag. Start crying then so she'll leave right quick." Draco placed a hand to her cheek, and she turned her head to kiss the inside of his wrist. The kid was cute, she had to admit. She knew Druella was hoping that seeing Narcissa fulfill her role as mother would encourage her to begin a family of her own, and she knew that _that_ was not going to happen…at least, not anytime soon. Cissy was too delicate and naïve to get involved in the war but Bellatrix, Bellatrix was tough, resilient. She was useful right now, independent; she liked her life as it was, married but completely involved in politics and war. A child would ruin that; it would end her ability to fight, to help the cause. It would be the end of her freedom.

Nursing and raising a child, the image of a fighter that she fought so hard to achieve would be lost. Nursing and raising a child, no one would see her as anything more than a woman.

She could not have that, regardless of how curious she was to find out how she would do as a mother.

"Draco, what in Merlin's name are you doing?"

The baby in her arms gurgled a laugh. In his left hand he had a fist full of her ebony curls and was staring at it intently. Bellatrix watched him as best as she could from the corner of her eye, unsure whether to be alarmed (was this normal behaviour?). Her head was cocked at a strange and uncomfortable angle, watching with furrowed brows as Draco used both hands to detract each curly strand. He rubbed the lock between two short stubby fingers, tracing the way it spiraled into his tight fist with his grey eyes. There was only one way a seven-month-old could truly explore something and, after a moment's hesitation, he raised his left fist to his face and opened his mouth.

"Don't you dare!" Bellatrix hissed, grabbing his pale fist before it could disappear into the gaping hole of pinkness. Startled, Draco dropped the lock and began to fuss. He was just about to let out a wail, to Bellatrix's great anxiety, when Narcissa poked her head into the room.

"Bellatrix, dear, why don't you join Aprilette and I? Bring the baby and come to the parlor." Her voice was even and kind but Bellatrix got the real message: come help me. Now.

"Of course, lovely," Bellatrix cooed, patting her eyelashes innocently. Narcissa shot her a nasty look before disappearing.

"Well, Draco, looks like it's time to go." She shifted his weight to her other hip, alert to the fact that he was watching her face too closely to be up to much good. Two steps from the door she felt a tony hand snake to the back of her neck.

"If you try to eat my hair again," she threatened in a low voice, "I swear I will hex you." But Draco never tried to sneak a curl into his mouth. Instead, he grabbed a fistful of her black curls and, just as she was closing the door, he gave it a smart yank.

"Ouch!"

She glared at her nephew but he only laughed, clapping his chubby hands together. Bellatrix scowled, rubbing her scalp, wanting to reprimand him. But she couldn't, not when he was looking at her so mischievously and reminding her of someone else who sought to defy.

"You may be a Malfoy by name, kid, but I'll make a Black out of you yet."


	60. March 1981: Shot of Whiskey

He's sitting there at the table, right where they had left him. He's got his elbows on the table, hunched over his hands like something's weighing him down, down, down. He's gazing right through the wall, right past it to something way beyond. She doesn't know what he's searching for, what memory he has playing over and over in his head. The memories are like watching a film projected on a white screen. You can memorize it, yearn for it, but you cannot touch it, cannot jump into the scene and shout "go back, go back!"

You cannot change the ending.

He won't say it – won't say that he misses him. He's a Black: tears, regret, and mourning are unacceptable. It doesn't matter how hard he attempted to cleanse himself of that upbringing, those ideologies, that name. He can run to the end of the world, he can change his clothes, he can scrub until his skin is all red and raw. It won't matter. It's who he is, like a brand, carved and etched in ink, sealed to his soul.

You never stop being a Black.

Andromeda starts when Ted walks into the room but Sirius doesn't move. He just sits there. Andromeda watches Ted as he looks at Sirius, looks at her, looks at Sirius. He disappears into the kitchen and she turns her head to watch him go but Sirius doesn't move. He just sits there, gazing out at the wall, through it, beyond it. He's watching some memory as it plays, stops, rewinds, then plays again.

The hollow thud of three shot glasses meeting wood announces Ted's return. Andromeda blinks. He's uncorking a bottle with gold contents. Then he's tipping it, first into one, then into the second, then into the third glass. The gold liquid swirls into the glass smoothing, dancing around the rum before settling down peacefully in the short glass. Ted puts the bottle down and Andromeda can read the label: Black Dog Scotch Whiskey. With a deep sigh, Ted reaches across the table to press a glass to Sirius's hands. For the first time, the boy moves. He looks up.

"Drink up, son," Ted instructs gruffly.

Sirius gazes at Ted for heartbeat. Then, his fingers curl around the glass and he's raising it to his lips and throwing his head back to down the contents in one. Andromeda looks down at her own glass for a long time.

"May your soul rest in peace, Regulus," she whispers finally, and swallows the burning gold just like she'll swallow the pain and pretend she's all right.

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**I will probably be adding another 10 chapters to this section, so i will probably have to add future chapters in between some of these. uploading them and getting them into chronological order is not going to be fun lol**


	61. April 1981: Subtle Sneer

**this story of how this chapter came to me is kind of interesting. about 8 months about, i decided that it would be a good idea to show how Andromeda was still a Black because you can never stop being a Black. 6 months ago i wrote the exposition for this but i got stuck on how the two were going to interact. i let it be and almost forgot about it. today, i was going through my ol notebook (it quickly got filled and i needed another one) and found it. well, i guess this was the time it was supposed to come out to you because no sooner had i read the exposition than i began writing the rest of it!**

**please review. i appreciate all feedback. enjoy!**

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She walked down Diagon Alley, taking in the boarded windows and the locked doors. People scurried about in small groups, casting fearful glances over shoulders. Mothers pressed their children close to them, shuffling their brood past the beggars that collected in corners and dim alleyways. No one stopped to chat; no one strolled leisurely through the streets or peered appreciatively at window displays. Everyone had the same objective: grab what you need and get out.

Andromeda turned right, taking care not to treat on her long cloak as she stepped down into Knockturn Alley. The wind whistled past the long and damp corridor, nipping coldly at her ears, and she rubbed her gloved hands together to warm them. A newspaper somersaulted across her path and movement to her left told her that a face had retreated from its post at the window. She kept her stride steady, confident, but she warily searched all the shadowing parts for any malevolent persons. This section was even less populated than the previous, and it was rather uncomfortable.

A little wooden sign read "The Teikolosha: Rare and Powerful Remedies from West Africa for the Devious Conditions". The door used to be a light blue but the dirt had settled so thickly that even in the sections where the original paint had not chipped off, it was an odd grey colour. The appearance as a whole was neglected.

She grasped the handle turned, and pushed. It cracked open willingly, and she almost smiled with relief.

Inside, there were bottles and jars and trinkets everywhere: arranged on tables, on shelves along the walls, behind the glass doors of cupboards, and even dangling on strings from the ceiling. The skull of a large prey animal sat on a table covered in a printed cloth of green, red, yellow, and black. Necklaces of fangs hung on her right and an assortment of yellow and black talismans were scattered around an eerie-looking voodoo head. There were strange runes listed on a large parchment on the far wall, and a bowl of rocks and stones of various colours.

"May I help you?" purred an accented male voice from the corner. Andromda strolled towards it, stopping before a small desk made of deep brown wood. Figures of animals, humans drawn in odd positions, and a block of black stone kept the furniture in within the theme of the shop but other than that it was clear even from dust. The man standing behind it, who had presumably spoken, had skin the colour of toasted walnut and sharp black eyes. A dark turban was wrapped around his head, and he wore a pair of forest green robes. He watched her closely.

"I am in need of a cough serum," she told him coolly. "I want a powerful one, though nothing temperamental or unreliable. I need it to work."

The wizard said nothing. He just watched her with dark, calculating eyes that seemed to be gaining more information about her than she was willing to give. She fought the urge to shift her weight or cast her gaze about too quickly for fear of appearing uneasy. It had been ages since her last trip down Knockturn Alley yet she knew better than to give, even unintentionally, any hint of apprehension or naivety.

The silence dragged on for more than could ever be customary. She was just about to open her mouth to prompt him further when he finally broke it to tell her in a slow, soft voice:

"I know you. But what are you doing in parts such as these, I wonder? Hm, curious thing indeed. And that it should happen in my shop!" He chuckled but the sound was not warm and inviting. "What brings you to these streets, I'd like to know. Yes, oh yes, I would."

"I've just told you: I need a potion for a cough-"

"Strange, that you should come here, though. These items are well off the common market."

"I am aware," Andromeda answered, beginning to feel rather puzzled, "but the more accessible potions have no effect. As I stated before, I need something that will work."

"It takes a fair deal of money to acquire any of these items."

"As I am well aware of, or I would not have come." She bit the inside of her cheek, wondering if she had snapped a bit too fiercely. The man grinned wickedly.

"Yes but we don't accept any of those foul Muggle coins now do we?"

Andromeda's eyes narrowed.

"What are you getting at?"

He grinned more widely.

"I know you," he repeated.

"I do not care what you _think_ you know, you insufferable man, but it would be in your best interest to show more respect to your superiors!"

"Now, now, dearie, I hardly think there is any cause for such nastiness." He didn't seem at all fazed by her offense, his white teeth glowing in his dark face as he continued to leer at her. Andromeda's fists curled, struggling to keep her face expressionless, her stance poised.

"Oh but I think there is. And things are getting to get a lot 'nastier' if you do not cooperate and engage in fair business."

For a split second, the shopkeeper seemed confused by her words. Andromeda shifted, exposing the wand she had gripped tightly in her hand, the wand that was pointing threateningly at him. His eyes widened upon seeing it and when he glanced back up into her face, his expression had smoothed into one of cool politeness.

"Well… Ms. Black…let me check the storage room for what you seek."

Andromeda didn't bother to correct him; Black was a far more acceptable surname in these parts of London.

After a couple minutes, the man returned from the back room, empty-handed.

"We seem to be out of the particular potion you seek; however, you have two options: I can brew the potion myself, and you may purchase a vial of freshly-brewed serum, or I can order a cauldron to be shipped."

"How long does it take to brew this serum?"

"A fortnight."

Andromeda shook her head slightly.

"Have it shipped then. I cannot wait quite so long." The man tipped his head, reaching down to open a drawer. From within he extracted a blue quill, a bottle of ink, and a piece of parchment.

"This item is sent by bird directly from the Serengeti Plains in Tanzania. The fee for such an order is quite a substantial one. The trip places quite a bit of stress on the birds, and this would, I assume, be a rushed order. You understand."

"How quickly can it be delivered?"

"As a rushed order, two days."

Andromeda nodded at this far more acceptable answer. The man pushed the parchment towards her, explaining that she would have to provide her name, address, and a deposit of half of the payment. She filled out the document, signing that she understood that failure to pay the other half would result in the loss of the item; the deposit was non-refundable. She laid down the coins, which he counted before storing away.

"I can expect an owl when the potion has arrived?"

"Of course," he answered smoothly. "Then you may come pick it up. You may also send a servant to pick it up in your name…" His voice trailed off, and his eyes glittered maliciously even though his face remained unchanged.

"No, I will pick it up myself," Andromeda replied coldly. "I expect everything to be ready in two days' time."

He bowed his head and lowered his eyes respectfully as Andromeda turned on her heel and walked out. As the door closed behind her, she cast a glance behind her and caught his smirk. She couldn't quite keep her lips from curling in a way that had once been so familiar. It was subtle, and not quite so well-rehearsed, but it was a sneer nevertheless.


	62. June 1981: Most Beautiful Magic of All

It was nearly evening, and the manor in Wiltshire was finally empty of guests. The Malfoys had invited relatives, coworkers, political allies and friends, making a grand occasion out of the first birthday of their son, Draco. There were several small children, most of whom were too young to stray too far from their mothers, but overall the affair was heavily curtailed to the adults and the current political state of the Wizarding community.

Nevertheless, it had been an eventful day for young Draco. There had been a feast, complete with a birthday cake, and games and face-painting, fireworks and sweets and gifts. Lucius had seen it time to introduce Draco, who had just started to take tentative steps on chubby legs, to Quidditch, and Draco had spent a substantial amount of time zipping around the yard on a toy broom ("Cissy, would you relax, it is made specifically for his age group. Look at him! He's a taken to it like a pro! Naturally, he takes after his father – I was Captain of the Slytherin team back in Hogwarts, I don't know if you know.") The excitement of the day had finally taken its toll on Draco and, after a warm bath with mint-scented bubbles, he had drifted off to sleep in Narcissa's arms without a fuss. She sat in a cushioned recliner with her son in her lap, his head leaning on her breast. She could feel each rise and fall of his chest against hers and the warmth from each soft exhale. He had one hand tucked under his cheek; the other was wrapped lightly around Narcissa's forefinger, the baby blanket replaced with the soothing presence of his mother.

Draco shifted slightly in her arms, his eyelids fluttering over his eyes. He was dreaming. Narcissa smiled, wondering what he was dreaming about. She wasn't concerned, sure that only pleasant dreams could be taken form. He was little, innocent and sheltered now. At 52 weeks, he had known only affection, happiness, and privilege; life for him was simple. He knew nothing of fear, regret, or heartache. No one had ever burned him; no one had ever deserted him. He was unscarred by betrayal, unaffected by the horrors of war. She reflected on how quickly time passed. Had it really been a year since she had given birth to him? He had grown up so fast, developed so drastically in such a small span of time! Thoughts of the future reeled through her head, and she found herself uncomfortably apprehensive of the future. The dreaded teenage years seemed ages away; yet that point lurked in the distance, inevitable, an ominous promise that there would come a time, sooner than she would like to believe, when her presence would be greeted not with a smile but with a scowl, when she would no longer be able to protect him from the harsh realities of life. She wished, forlornly, knowing that it would never come to pass, indeed could not, that her son could remain little forever, that he could stay like this and never grow up.

She pressed her lips to his smooth head, on which the wispy platinum hair was growing in tufts, pressing him closer to her bosom. She had never known she could feel such love, never thought it was even possible for one to feel so much emotion without suffering a terrible eruption of the heart. It was so different from the love of romance or the love of loyalty, though she continued to feel and express these types to both her husband and her family. The love for a child exceeded both types, though she never stopped loving Lucius or Bella. She wanted to give Draco the world, provide him with all the riches she would never have, push him through the limits of the sky.

She had once envied her older sisters and the apparent aptness for spells, the ease with which they had produced such exquisite magic. She had, at long last, usurped the two of them, for here in her arms was the most beautiful magic of all. And she would protect him at the expense of her life before she let anyone extinguish it.

* * *

**I told you I would have a narcissa/draco chapter. and finally, maybe a year later, here it is. anyway, this will soon be moved to be ch 62, after Subtle Sneer and before A Dull Grey Tuesday. I think I am confusing readers by moving into the right place immediately upon uploading it; I apologize for this.  
I wrote the last 3 paragraphs before I wrote the first 2, so there might be a huge shift in tone. if there was (you caught it while reading), please let me know - and its effects on your reading this - on the review box below. if need be, I can go back this week and smooth it out because nasty, pointless tone shifts annoy me.**

**thanks for reading!**


	63. November 1981: A Grey Tuesday

It started off as little more than murmurs tucked into dark, secluded corners. No one wanted to say it aloud or think it too eagerly for fear that it was not true. It was far better to continue as before than to be lured out with deceitful promises and malevolent intent.

Yet with each passing hour, the murmurs grew louder. Hope feeds confidence, and as the sun peaked over the horizon, the start of an overcast Tuesday, some began to pull open the shutters and poke their heads outside. By noon, many could be seen out and about, travelling in large groups, heads bent together. All across Great Britain there was the feeling of anticipation. The excited whispers spread throughout the country like an ocean current, gaining momentum, its waves growing larger and larger as the day progressed.

"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard-"

"-yes, their son, Harry-"

By five o'clock, everybody knew: the Dark Lord was gone, defeated, his dark reign over at last. All across the country, wizards rejoiced. Bottle were opened, feasts were prepared, songs were sung. The doors that had been sealed and locked to outsiders were now flung open, like inviting arms. Neighbours turned to each other not to accuse but to celebrate. Owls were released to relate the message to distant relatives and friends, sparks were thrown into the air in a state of euphoria, and people took to the street (even Muggle streets!) without a care. Families kissed, strangers embraced, and the festivities began: You-Know-Who was gone, gone, gone!

While the wizarding community celebrated, one particular woman sat stoically in a high-backed chair in her parlor. Her cheeks were not rosy from wine, tears did not shine in her eyes from relief, and she lacked pleasant company. She sat alone, silent, lost in her thoughts, waiting for her husband to return home. For her fellow wizards, the fight was over. For Narcissa Malfoy, the fight had just begun. She was on the wrong side of the fence now, part of the losing team. What was supposed to end in a long and prosperous life had now been turned on its head. Who could say what would happen now? They were the guilty ones now and she along with them. Her family – her _son_ – how was she to keep them safe now?

The fight for her life had begun.

* * *

**I know that it has been a really long time but hopefully I can get the last few couple of chapters for this section written and uploaded, and do a bit of tweaking to other chapters. to those of you who are still reading this story after all this time, I want to sincerely thank you!**

the two lines of dialogue I took straight from the _The Philosopher's Stone_.

**I would love to hear your thoughts!**


	64. November 1981: Silver Peacock

"…_but the source of the noise proved to be nothing more than a pure white peacock, strutting majestically along the top of the hedge."_

The cell is damp and cold, rancid with the smell of sweat and rotten bodies. Someone will scream occasionally. Here, bad dreams plague the mind even when awake. The sun never shines here; the rays shrink from this fortress of ultimate sorrow, of dark desperation. Human helplessness is a powerful force, and it always wins here.

The first day isn't quite so bad. On the first day, they have enough energy to grip the bars with two fists and yell promises of vengeance, justice, acquittal. They flinch when the Dementors pass by but managing a solid grimace nevertheless. It's their war face, the one that reflects their hopes that someone is fighting for them on the other side, that they will soon walk back into the land of the living, of sunshine and loyal friends and home-cooked meals. Sometimes there will be one who is confident in wit and resourcefulness and will scrutinize for hours the grimy walls, metal door, and slit of a window, calculating.

Hope – all false hope. It was gone within twenty-four hours.

The third night has found Lucius huddled in the far corner of his cell. He can see the hooded shadow from where he is huddled on the floor. It's agitated, its ragged breathing coming out louder, and it is soon joined by two others. They pace together, the three of them, like withdrawn drug addicts craving a fix. They are uncannily graceful, these Dark creatures; it's an eerie beauty. It makes him shudder.

Lucius tucks his head into the crook of his elbow, desperately trying to find sleep, though it offers little solace from this house of human misery. The Dementors make him uneasy, the growing helplessness makes him weary. He closes his eyes, praying for sleep, for the little escape it offers. It is fruitless; sleep evades him.

It is well into the night when the light appears. Lucius blinks, trying to clear the haze of tormented sleep, not sure what it is that he is seeing. At first, he believes it to be the light of the moon. But this is impossible; the moon follows the same path as the sun, and his window faces north. The pale light solidifies, burns stronger, and suddenly Lucius knows exactly what it is.

The creature raises its majestic head proudly, eyeing him as it struts forward. A sense of immense calm sweeps over Lucius and, though there was no reason to believe it, he feels safe. He forgets about the suffering; he forgets about the Dementors. He just focuses on the proud creature, resilient in its silence as it keeps the Dementors away. He isn't happy, exactly, but for the first time since he stepped into Azkaban Lucius is content, his gleaming cellmate giving him hope that he would soon be home, wrapped safely in the arms of its caster.

The last thing he sees before drifting off into a peaceful sleep is the bird lifting its tail to fan it out in a beautiful display of silver feathers.

* * *

**this idea came to me a while back but I was having trouble writing out the scene. this is why Lucius went out and got those white peacocks for his manor.**

**thoughts?**


	65. November 1981: Sacrifice

**whew! this took me a heck of a long time! the first two sections I had already posted up, so if you have already read it and don't feel like reading it again, feel free to skip down to the third section. to reiterate: this chapter had already been posted a few months ago, and then taken down so I could lengthen it.**

**it's lengthy, I know. sorry but not sorry. there was just no other way to do this. and after over _three years_ of working on this, I finally have Part Two finished!**

**big thank you to anyone who started this when I was first posting chapters. enjoy!**

* * *

Bellatrix sat up, yawning hugely and most unladylike. A glance at the large clock in the corner told her that she had dozed off for about forty minutes. Night had settled in, and at some point the house elf had entered to light the fire. In the center of the room, Draco was blinking at her and sucking his thumb, holding on to the railing of his pen for support, though he hardly needed it nowadays to even walk. The light from the crackling fire made the blond downy on his head sparkle in an eerie orange.

How long had he been up?

Bellatrix watched her nephew for a long while. It was odd that he had not started fussing; he was normally extremely expressive and demanding. Tensions had been running high as of late, though, and perhaps he had considered it in his best interest to behave more docile. Draco, understanding that he was not going to be picked up, resumed to entertaining himself with the various toys in his pen. If there was one thing his parents took special care on, it was that he did not go wanting. Bellatrix shot Narcissa a wry smile. She was still sleeping, light hair cascading around her shoulder and folded hands tucked under her head. She shifted in her sleep, extending her left foot so that it pressed uncomfortably against Bellatrix's thigh. Even asleep she looked troubled, and Bellatrix bit her lip with a mixture of hurt and guilt. She chose Lucius; given the choice between her sister and her husband, Narcissa chose Lucius. That knowledge hurt, though Bellatrix tried not to let it, because she knew that she would always choose her little sister over anyone or anything. That was something that was rooted in her to the core. Rodolphus was part of her family now, yes, but only by name and legal documents. Narcissa and she were bonded by something much, much stronger – at least, she always believed that blood ran thicker than water.

Maybe that was just the curse of the big sister: you'd give your life for your siblings but it would never cross their minds to do the same.

Or maybe there was something stronger tying Narcissa to her husband, thickening their marriage with blood.

Bellatrix glanced at Draco, feeling guilty. There was more at stake here than just Narcissa's well-being, and unfortunately her happiness was tied to the well-being and happiness of her son – _their_ son. Narcissa's words rang across Bellatrix's mind:

"_I won't let my son become a bastard!"_

Carefully, Bellatrix rose from the couch; her sleeping sister did not so much as falter in her steady breathing. She crossed the room to the play pen and, grabbing him beneath the arms, gently lifted out her nephew. She tucked her legs under her and placed him on her lap. A wave of her wand and bright figures pranced from the end, and Draco giggled as he tried to clasp them in his hands. Bellatrix smiled softly.

Narcissa needed someone to take care of her. It did not matter how much strength this little boy had given her, she would always be the little blue-eyed tag-along who could never keep up to Bellatrix. She would always be just Cissy. As much as she hated to admit it, Lucius Malfoy had done a good job of keeping her happy and keeping her safe. Narcissa wanted her husband back and Draco needed his father. The Ministry believed Lucius was the Dark Lord's right hand – and they were almost right because he _had_ been a rather valuable Death Eater. As long as they believed that, Lucius's claims to being victim of the Imperius Curse would get him nowhere, except perhaps a cleaner cell in Azkaban. The only thing that would help him to even have a chance of talking his way out of it would be if the Ministry was preoccupied with another, more powerful Death Eater…one declaring to be the Dark Lord's most trusted, most faithful…

Bellatrix dropped her wand by her side abruptly, and the dancing lights faded. Draco barely had time to register disappointment before he was being scooped up and placed on his feet; his aunt had him held securely by the torso, tipping her head so she could peer right into his eyes. Grey eyes, like his father. But she was not doing this for Lucius. This was for Draco…and for Cissy – anything for Cissy.

"You owe me, kid. Big time." She placed a firm kiss on his cheek and, grabbing her wand as she rose, she placed him back into his pen. Draco watched curiously as she shrugged into her cloak and waltzed over to his mother. Bellatrix hovered over Cissy for a second before bending at the waist to kiss her head lightly. She did not turn back to face Draco until she was in the fireplace, a handful of Floo powder in her fist. Draco raised a hand and waved it.

"Bai bai, Bella!"

Bellatrix smiled forlornly but did not answer him. She let the powder sprinkle from her clenched fingers and whispered her destination, head high as the flames engulfed her.

She knew what she had to do.

* * *

Rodolphus scrutinized her face, and Bellatrix knew that she had not fooled him completely. She lifted her chin in what she hoped was a gesture of cool resolve to hide her wavering confidence. If he said anything, if he voiced his suspicions, then this would fail before it even began. Rabastan was too eager to pick up on the fact that something was amiss but even he was not thick enough to go along with this scheme if he knew her real intentions. After an intense moment, Rodolphus finally spoke.

"When?"

"Tonight," Bella replied, relieved that he had kept silent. Rodolphus raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Beside him, his brother gaped in surprise.

"Tonight! How can you possibly think of doing it tonight? We need to plan, to chart this out. If we get caught-"

"Get caught!" Bellatrix's eyes snapped to her brother-in-law. With great effort she forced down her anxiety, playing it off as indignant anger rather than apprehension. "And why would you think that we would get caught? No one has ever had enough proof to pin me as a Death Eater, not with any amount of validity. I was the Dark Lord's most faithful and useful supporter; do you think that I have gotten thick in his absence?"

"I wasn't offending your cleverness, Bella, I was merely surprised that you wanted to take this on immediately."

"Well, how much time do you need, Rabastan? Should I write to you a formal notification of intent? Or perhaps your previous eagerness was just a façade. When things need to be done, you scamper off! Has your allegiance wavered? Don't you want answers about the Dark Lord's disappearance?"

"What in Merlin's name has got your wand in a knot? Of course I want answers about the Dark Lord, I just want to think about this for a minute! We need to plan, and we need to be cautious. If we make one bad move, it will blow up in our face."

Bellatrix opened her mouth to retort but Rodolphus interrupted her.

"Enough. The two of you squabble like young children."

Rabastan grumbled under his breath indignantly but Bellatrix remained quiet (perhaps uncharacteristically quiet). Rodolphus turned to his wife.

"Which member of the Order did you have in mind?"

Bellatrix paused before answering, "The Longbottoms". Rodolphus nodded.

"Rabastan, go change into something more suitable. We'll wait for you here. Have your wand handy."

The young man started to object but closed his mouth when he caught his brother's gaze. Without another word, he crossed the room and exited. After a couple of minutes they heard the whoosh of flames as he Flooed back to his own residence.

"What are you thinking, Bella?"

Bellatrix glanced up at her husband, wary. He was standing erect, his dark hair falling into his eyes, his arms down by his side. His expression was guarded but his stance did not suggest hostility or defensiveness; he merely appeared curious, perhaps already resigned to his fate. Still, his calm demeanor unnerved her. There was no way he had not realized that there was something else, an ulterior motive to her sudden idea. She shifted uncomfortably and spoke to the floor, avoiding his gaze.

"Frank and Alice Longbottom were powerful Aurors. That Prophecy could have referred to either the Potters _or_ the Longbottoms. This whole situation is absurd, absolutely ridiculous. Dumbledore is sure to have some answers but it would be foolish to get through with him. The Potters are long gone but the Longbottoms are firm supporters of Dumbledore; if they cannot provide us with some answers, then who can?"

He made a noncommittal sound in his throat. When she glanced up at him, he was gazing at her with a regretful expression and it almost made her feel guilty. She swallowed hard, refusing to be the one to look away.

"I certainly hope you know what you are doing," he said. He jerked his head as he turned to walk away, a clear invitation for her to follow. Bellatrix sighed before following, knowing exactly what she was doing but hoping she would not come to regret it.

* * *

Barty Crouch Jr. crept silently out the door onto the front porch. Even with the door shut he could still hear his father's angry voice from within, pausing occasionally to let his mother put in a sentence or two in her gentle, pleading tone before starting up again.

"I hate him," he muttered darkly, pulling out his wand and the cigarette he had stowed, secretly, into his sock. "I fucking hate him."

He listened intently to the row inside, making sure that neither parent had decided to pursue him outside before lighting the tiny roll with his wand. Putting to his lips, he took a long drag, holding the puff for as long as he could before releasing a stream of smoke through his lips. A Muggle contraption, it wasn't something he could share with his circle of wizarding friends. They would, on the contrary, sneer at this acquired habit of his. But it was something that his father would never dare do, and as of late Barty was interested in all that Bartemius Crouch Sr. was too proud to attempt – or too cowardly.

Subconsciously, his fingers reached out to brush gently against his left forearm. He grimaced ruefully. Those days were over.

He had been almost relieved, that first day but now he was regretful, left longing for the chance to be part of something bigger than himself, bigger than the twisted, self-righteous view of his father.

His father! Barty scowled in disgust at the dark street. His old man, his pop, who never could see beyond his faults; who had frequently reminded him that he had fallen short of the standards of his surname; who had missed his childhood, all the milestone moments in which a father _should_ be present for his son, in exchange for extra time at the office; who spouted his political views with all the superciliousness of god; who swore he understood the world and all those in it but was blind as to what was going on in his own house.

_He_ hadn't been like that. _He_ hadn't cared that Barty was then barely 18 an bollocks at Transfiguration and still fighting a lingering case of acne, the stubborn remnants of his adolescence. With him, Barty had received praise, encouragement; the threat of severe punishment (which he had received on occasion for his failure) was well worth the time spent training and learning magic of such power that he could not have imagined the existence of half of them. With him, Barty had found acceptance, friends even. And now all that was gone.

He was still puffing on the Muggle cigarette, contemplating the moroseness of his life, when he heard a loud _Crack_! He stilled, hand frozen by his mouth as he squinted out into the darkness. At first, he saw nothing and thought it had just been the neighbour's cat but then he saw them: three figures, two male and one female, strutting up the lane, towards him, with long, purposeful strides. Even from afar, he recognized who they were: Rodolphus, Rabastan, and Bellatrix Lestrange.

He watched as they approached, slightly mesmerized. Bellatrix, naturally, had taken the lead; he could just make out the seductive sway of her hips and the wild curls cascading down her back. He hadn't seen her in a few days but he would always be able to identify her – she had been the protagonist of his romantic fantasies since he had laid eyes on her at 14. She had sharp tongue, wicked sense of humor, and dark eyes that glittered cunningly, a tiny hint of the wild personality and power she held within her. Her only fault was her poor choice of spouse: Rodolphus Lestrange was big and brawny, wealthy and foreign and therefore, he supposed, very alluring to women. But in Barty's eye, Rodolphus didn't understand the wonder to which he was wed; he took her skill and beauty for granted. Barty would never take her for granted, and though she was almost ten years his senior, his sweetest daydream was of the day she would leave the French man for the young man who had matured so much under her critical instruction.

Taking one last drag, Barty trotted down the steps and out into the street. He was only a few strides behind the group. Flicking the cigarette bud onto the pavement, the teen strode after them and whistled to catch their attention; he would much rather spend the evening with them than listen to his father lecture him yet again on why he was the biggest failure of his life.

* * *

The whistle startled Bellatrix, and she spun around abruptly, wand clenched tightly and muscles tense, ready to spring. Her two companions reacted similarly. But the intruding figure was a familiar one: Bartemius Crouch Jr. Giving him a glance over, she noticed the stiff shoulders and furrowed brow that contrasted starkly with his casual lope and slack hold of his wand. She lowered her own wand, concluding that the cause of his tension was irksome, not lethal, and personal, and therefore of no consequence to herself or her purpose there.

"Well, look who it is! If it isn't little Barty Crouch. Alright, Crouch?" Rodolphus's tone was light but Bellatrix caught the leering jest lurking beneath the surface. She knew that Barty Crouch had had a school boy crush on the since she had first been assigned to train him in the ways of the Dark Arts; _everyone_ knew this. While she found this exasperating, even irritating t times, her husband had found the boy's fondness for his wife rather amusing and often took to toying with him, making sport of his unrequited love.  
"Yeah, alright. You? I haven't seen any of you since…" he trailed off but there was not doubt as to what he was referring to. They all nodded gravely. "What are you all doing over here in Everton? Bit far from home, isn't it?"

Bellatrix regarded him suspiciously, wondering how much, if at all, she ought to tell him but she didn't even get a chance to open her mouth before Rabastan was answering in her stead.

"We're going to find out what happened to the Dark Lord," he whispered. "Going to figure out what _really_ happened on Halloween, that night at the Potters'."

Barty's eyes grew wide as saucers, and Bellatrix scowled openly at her brother-in-law. Idiot.

"But…the Dark Lord…he's gone! He's dead!"

"The Dark Lord isn't dead," Bellatrix corrected sharply. "He was weakened, terribly weakened. He is gone, yes, but he is not dead."

Barty stared at her, taking in this information. Feeling that this was quite enough, she motioned with her head to Rodolphus and Rabastan, then turned on her heel to continue up towards the residents of the Longbottoms.

"Hang on, wait for me!"

"No," Bellatrix answered with barely a glance back. "Go back, Crouch. You don't understand the half of it."

"What? No, don't send me away! I can help! I _do_ understand: you're going to try and bring back the Dark Lord. Well, I want to bring him back, too!"

"Keep your voice down!" Bellatrix hissed. "You'll hinder this plot before we even reach our destination."

"What are you even doing here, Crouch?" Rabastan asked, curious.

"I live here, just down the street. That house," he turned to point to a large mauve-coloured house with an open porch encircled by a white picket fence. How quaint, Bellatrix thought with a contemptuous sneer. She had forgotten that the Crouches lived just a few blocks from the Longbottoms.

"Go home, Barty," she repeated, this time in a softer voice that before yet no less commanding. "Go back to your parents and let us handle this."

Barty opened his mouth to retort but Rodolphus cut him off.

"No, let him come. He is old enough now, and he might prove himself useful."

Barty's face erupted into a gleeful grin.

"Yes, please let me come! I am not a child, you know, I learned a lot of powerful stuff, same as you all. Besides," he added importantly, "you might need me."

Belltrix considered him, slightly amused. The idea that _she_ would ever need _him_ was so preposterous it was laughable. But if Rodolphus wanted to bring him along, if he wanted to joing their little expedition – well, he was certainly old enough to decide for himself and to serve the consequences that would, without a doubt, be dealt. She gave a half-shrug of consent before turning to continue up the lane. Barty's face broke into an eager smirk, and he broke into a brisk pace, nearly skipping with enthusiasm. Rodolphus immediately sidled up next to his wife, making an obvious display of taking her hand in his and intertwining their fingers. Barty's face darkened as, to his great disappointment, he was forced to walk beside Rabastan. Bellatrix huffed a sigh and rolled her eyes upward but let her husband have his little bit of fun; she had other matters to concern herself with, far more pressing than her husband's petty games.

The group finally stopped in front of a house at end of the block. It was a two-story house with a significant amount of lawn. There was a plastic swing set and a slide, the bright colours noticeable even in the darkness. A large oak tree grew behind the house, the top of its regal canopy poking above the red-tiled roof. Not a single light shone through the windows and all of the curtains were drawn shut; all was asleep and silent inside.

In unison, as if by a silent command, the four pressed forwards. Rabastan drew his wand upon reaching the door and, with a soft murmur of "_Alohamora_", the lock slid back with a light click. Rodolphus held the door open, allowing his companions to step through the threshold before following, closing the door behind him silently.

They moved about the house slowly, cautiously, casting dim lights into the dark corners to be sure that no one was hiding out waiting for them. They needn't have worried; the greatest threat had been conquered, and in their relief people were acting in the name of friendship and cooperation instead of paranoia and fear. Unfortunately for the Longbottoms, they were no exception.

They were just making their way through the living room, casting glances up the winding stairs to where they knew the bedrooms must be, when they heard a noise. They froze, straining to listen, and then they heard it again, the unmistakable sound of feet shuffling of covered feet and kitchenware being moved around. Someone in the house was awake. It wouldn't be long before this someone emerged, heading for the stairs on the way back to bed, and encountered four uninvited Death Eaters in his living room.

Rodolphus and Bellatrix exchanged brief looks before springing into action. Rabastan and Barty followed, hardly even daring to breathe, silent as shadows. They were just about to enter the kitchen when a male figure emerged.

Frank Longbottom had awakened in the middle of the night, as he normally did, thirsty and in need of a drink. Yawning hugely, eyes still bleary from sleep, he had realized that he had forgotten his nightly glass of water and had left the confines of his warm bed to retrieve one, stuffing his feet into the fuzzy bed slippers his wife enjoyed teasing him about. More out of habit than of need, he had grabbed his wand from the bedside table on his way out of the room he shared with his wife.

His state of consciousness could barely be described as wakefulness as, glass in hand, he shuffled out of the kitchen. But when he was greeted by four dark, cloaked strangers, he immediately became alert.

The glass slipped from his hand, shattering into thousands of tiny shards upon its meeting with the floor. Water spilled from it, splattering the walls and darkening the mahogany wood the colour of dried blood as it pooled at his feet.

The sound of the glass crashing onto the floor seemed to mobilize everyone. Frank darted back into the kitchen in time to escape the purple sparks aimed at his face just as Bellatrix lunged for him. The Death Eaters followed him into the kitchen, leaping over the puddle on the floor to avoid slipping and jamming their foot on a piece of jagged glass. Frank had retrieved his wand and began dealing out spells. Bellatrix caught sight of the silver four-leggede creature as it loped through the wall; it wouldn't be long before Longbottom would be joined by powerful allies.

Hopelessly outnumbered, Frank nevertheless put up a good fight, as she knew he would. But eventually he was forced onto his knees, and Rabastan began pressing him for answers.

"What happened to the Dark Lord? Where is he now? Tell us what happened at the Potters'!"

Over and over Frank repeated that he didn't know, he didn't know. He squirmed, fighting off the curses and hexes as best he could, throwing his own powerful spells in retaliation. Bellatrix asked no questions; within her, her love for power was awakening, she remembered what she had found so appealing of the Dark Arts. Everything was working out, it would play out just as she thought. She lifted her arm, ready to deliver a blow which would eliminate Frank Longbottom, almost surprised at how eager she was at the prospect of being the one to silence him forever, when there was an audible gasp. Bellatrix looked up in time to see a head of dark bushy hair rushing from the kitchen.

"Stay here," she growled at her companions and then took off after the fleeing figure. She had expected the woman to escape through the front door so she was surprised when the woman dashed up the stairs. Bellatrix pivoted and ran up the stairs after her, taking two at a time, wand brandished before her. The woman, presumably Frank Longbottom's wife, flew down the hallway, ducking into a dark room before zipping out again, running to where a door stood slightly ajar at the end of the hall. Her outstretched hand was on the handle. She did not get a chance to close it, as Bellatrix aimed a spell that hit her about the knees so that she tumbled forward. The door banged open under her propelled weight. Her fall allotted Bellatrix the time needed to catch up to her prey, panting slightly, and as she reached the doorway she cast an eye around the room, searching for any dangerous objects.

It was a nursery. A rocking chair sat motionless by the right wall, matching the cedar wardrobe that stood beside it. Stuffed animals and other toys littered the floor, even though there were several bins that were clearly labeled and obviously for the purpose of keeping them off the floor. The blinds, of a light blue hue and decorated with fairytale characters, were drawn in such a way that the moonlight streaming in cast the room in a striped pattern of pale light and darkness. At the back of the room, half-hidden in the shadows and in it, peering fretfully from between the cedar bars at the two women, was chubby toddler. He had clearly been startled awake and began fussing slightly.

Reassured that there was nothing remotely dangerous in this room, Bellatrix turned her attention back to her prey, who was now struggling to her feet. Bellatrix raised her wand, forcing her back onto her knees, and then quickly moved to disarm her but she was as defenseless as the babe at the back of the room. With a lazy flick of her wand, Bellatrix flipped Longbottom's wife over onto her back.

Shock flitted across the face of both women as they appraised each other. Alice Prewett peered up at her with wide, terrified eyes. Time had done more than just add to her years; she had gained a bit of weight, and her arms seemed to have more freckles than the thirteen-year-old in Bellatrix's memory. Her dark waves were shorter than they had been, and there was a scar running down from her shoulder to her collarbone. Yet her round face was still the same, dark freckles speckled across her nose bridge and across her cheeks.

It had been quite a long time since Bellatrix had last seen little miss Alice Prewett. Their last encounter, she recounted darkly, had not been a pleasant one. Alice and Andromeda had been rivals in their school years; Alice had spent a lot of energy teasing Andromeda Black, was relentless in her spite. Bellatrix had once, in her fourth year, come across Andromeda being bullied by Alice and her friends on her way back from the library. Enraged, she had gone up to them, drawing her wand, seething. She had received detention, of course, but Alice had thought twice before picking on her sister again. Bellatrix remembered how Alice had peered up at her, sprawled on the ground from a powerful hex, lip trembling and eyes widened in obvious fright…the resemblance to their current situation was uncanny.

Something very nasty bubbled to the surface, a terrible, malicious glee of being able to sneer down at this woman and know that she, Bellatrix was in control, total control.

"Bella – Bellatrix – listen to me! Please don't do this. It's over, alright, it's all over! Please…if you leave now, we won't tell. I swear, I swear on the life of my son, I won't call for retribution, I won't tell anyone it was you. Just please…please don't do this."

Bellatrix laughed humourlessly. She had forgotten, in the short period of recluse, what it had felt like to be truly alive, to cast spells and hexes of so great power that few could match it. She was unafraid now; weakness and uncertainty had been shed the moment she laid eyes on the woman who had been nothing but a dark smear in her school years. Bella was strong now; she had the power, she alone would decide the ultimate course. Years ago, Bellatrix had proven which one of the two was more powerful, more skillful. Now, it seemed, she would be demonstrating that same lesson. Alice Prewett was an insect trapped under a boot, a tiny mouse caught between the claws of a lion.

She swallowed hard, visibly, as Bellatrix raised her wand, pointing it right in between her eyes. She didn't cower though her eyes were wide with terror. Stupid bitch, Bellatrix thought.

"Crucio," she whispered.

Alice Longbottom let out a piercing scream. Her eyelids squeezed shut, her arms clamped over her head to protect herself from imaginary attackers and her body began to jerk sharply. Behind her, a baby's cry rose up, frightened and desparate, as if it knew that its carefree little life was in shambles, was on the brink of falling apart beyond repair.

"Crucio!" She cried again, louder this time. Alice cried out again, her body thrashing across the floor. She heard the despondent whimpers of Frank Longbottom from downstairs, or maybe she just imagined she did. Whimpers, screams, cries, all raising and falling together, almost in harmony. Then she parted her lips and a delirious cold laughter slipped out, joining the fray, rising above them, feeding off of it. It was a terrible sound, empty of empathy and void of warmth. Bellatrix's heart was racing, adrenaline surging through her veins in a delicious thrill. Her eyes gleamed dark and dangerous as she gazed upon the crumpled figure before her. Her arm fell again and again, dealing punishment as she sought fit, painting the canvass of the night with agony and desolation. She was powerful; she was worthy; she was fearless, strong, in control. This was what she wanted, how things had to be, and she was not afraid – oh no, she was not afraid.

Finally, she stayed her arm and just stood there panting, exhilarated. Alice Prewett was sprawled on the floor in an awkward angle. Her limbs gave a terrible jerk occasionally and her chest quivered with every ragged breath but she made no conscious effort to move otherwise, whether because she could not or would not Bella wasn't sure (though she was willing to believe it was the former). Her jaw was slack, the tip of her dry tongue was poking out from the corner of her lips, and her eyes, wide-open, were rolled up into the back of her head, so that her sockets were pits of glistening white.

Bellatrix stepped over the unconscious woman and back towards the shadowy corner where the child was still wailing pitifully. It was in its crib, clutching the bars of the rails as tears trailed down its pudgy face, which was purple and puffy from crying. Its open mouth was pink, little pearly teeth dotting the gums, and when Bellatrix approached it shrunk away from her, clearly afraid. Its cries were raspy now from so long a use but it kept up a continuous stream of shrieks and wails. She pondered the thing, red and puffy and ugly in the center of its crib, indifferent to his terror, toying with her wand, not entirely inclined to kill it. Yet what did one more matter? Why not do him in, same as his parents? Then she would have gotten them all, like a collectible set of Chocolate Frog cards. It would take less time and energy to off their son than to blink…what was one more life, in the grand scheme of things?

"Bella!" A male voice called for her down the hall but she barely registered it. She was still staring at the screaming baby, fingers closing around the familiar walnut wood.

"Bella! Bella, listen we – the Aurors – we have to go, they're here, they'll be on us any minute now!"

Bellatrix snapped her head around to face him. Barty's eyes were wide, nervous, the severity of what he had just taken part in finally weighing down on him. He strode into the room, tripping on the fallen woman and, when he looked down, visibly recoiled, horrified.

"Go?" She gazed at him coolly.

"Yes! Yes, go, come on now! We need to leave, we mustn't be seen here!"

He paused, listening intently. The child quieted as if he too were listening, aware of the allies that were finally here. Bellatrix heard it then as well: outside the house men were gathering, shouting orders at each other and sending sparks into the air.

"I can't let you do that," said Bellatrix calmly. "You see, I have every intention of letting them find us, of having their culprits."

A red flare suddenly passed by the window, illuminating the nursery with an eerie scarlet light. Barty was gaping at her incredulously, not understanding what she was saying.

Then time seemed to move very quickly and everything happened almost simultaneously. There was a loud BANG! below as the front door was blown open; the incoherent buzz of voices filled the house as what sounded like a dozen Aurors swarmed in. The baby began his ear-splitting screaming once more, alerting them of his presence, that there was trouble upstairs. Rodolphus and Rabastan rushed into the room, shutting the door behind them, ready to leave now that they were all together. Barty, panicking now, turned to leave, preferring to save himself.

But Bella's mind was made up and she refused to go alone. Young Barty Crouch Jr. had sealed his fate not an hour earlier, when he had chosen to join her party, when in trying to impress her he had agreed to take part in all that had transpired at the Longbottoms'.

Bellatrix lifted her wand in the air. Footsteps pounded up the stairs and the blood pounded against the sides of her head. Rabastan was taking out his wand and Barty was turning on his heels now, ready to Disapparate…she couldn't let him do that.

"Signaveris!" Bellatrix cried, and Barty was thrown onto his rump as her spell interrupted his Disapparation. She caught Barty and Rabastan's disbelieving open mouths and wide eyes, and she half-turned to Rodolphus, wondering what he would think, if he had suspected all along, but his neutral expression gave nothing away.

Then there was a rush as Aurors flooded the tiny room. Her wand, still above her head when they came in, was snatched from her, her arms twisted behind her back viciously. There was a lot of shouting, a thrown punch or two. There were horrified shouts and a cry of "She needs to go to Mungo's _now_!"; high-pitched shrieks of panic and the bawling of an inconsolable infant. And all the while Bellatrix's blood pounded, the roaring in her ears deafening. She has accomplished what she had set out to do. It had been a deed worthy of praise even from the Dark Lord, and she knew, suddenly, that had he not disappeared, he would have seated her at his right, that she would have finally earned his trust and highest approval.

She marched out the nursery and down the stairs without a struggle, escorted by three Aurors. She wasn't afraid. Even though she knew what awaited her, she wasn't afraid. She walked across the threshold and into the night air with her shoulders back and her head high, proud to the very end.

* * *

**_End of Part II_**


	66. November 1981: Caged

**Hello, all my wonderful readers! I am happy to announce that the end is within view. This section will be rather short, as we are now moving into the buffer time period between the first civil war and the second one. I estimate a total of 7 chapters before we move back into a war period.**

**Also, I am trying to figure out whether I should wait to upload in order OR upload them as I write and then reorganize after this section is complete. suggestions?**

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**_Part III_**

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Andromeda had known Bellatrix Black long enough to say with every confidence that she was a fighter. She was strong, powerful, relentless, and determined. She had pushed and shoved at her boundaries all her life. But even she had stayed within her field: she upheld the family values and made a respectable marriage. Given the time, she probably would have fulfilled her ultimate purpose of mothering an heir. She was unusual, she was extreme, and she was unruly, yet she still managed to stay within the confines of "acceptable".

Sirius, however, was the real rebel. He scoffed propriety, ridiculed respectability, and frequently flipped his finger at tradition. He got Sorted into Gryffindor, befriended a werewolf, snogged a Muggle, and left his high place in society to take his place beside Dumbledore in the Order. He broke every school rule, and social norms were just another chain-link fence keeping him from running free.

But he had been caught. He had forgotten that there was always a dog-catcher on the prowl, scanning the streets for strays. This was worse than being sent to the doghouse; the pound was a dark and solid fortress with metal bars sealing all exits. He would find no secret tunnels, no weak links in the fence, no dirt to dig his way out. He had been collared, leashed, and caged.

Most of the inmates went crazy from the Dementors; Sirius would lose his mind from the confinement.

The worst part was that he could not have done it, could not have done any of the things they accused him of doing. He had been falsely accused and unfairly sentenced, without a single chance to argue the contrary. He was innocent.

And she was the only one who knew it.


	67. September 1985: Return to the Platform

**this is the piece I had so much fun writing! turns out, it really is second in the procession. I really loved writing out and describing young Tonks and Lori; I might just write a one-shot on their friendship. anyway, Samuel Cattermole is my character. he is seven years older than Reginald Cattermole - yes, you know the one. extra tidbit there for you.**

**and this is where I am going to have to stop and work out the kinks in my timeline-ing because right now, Tonks will be in her 7th year when HP and co. start their 1st. yikes!**

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The station hadn't changed. She hadn't been here in twelve years and yet Platform 9 ¾ was exactly as she remembered it. She didn't recognize the faces, and the fashion sense was, well, _different_ than it had been when she was a teenager but on all other accounts, it was the same. Families bustled to and fro, returning students hugged friends and swapped stories, Muggle families huddled together as they surveyed their surrounding in awe; owls hooted from within their cages, cats were perched atop trolleys, and brooms were hoisted over shoulders. Then there was the Hogwarts Express: a beautiful, magnificent steam engine, glistening a majestic red in the late morning sun, the billowing white puffs of steam curling around its wheels.

It was like going back into her childhood memories.

Nymphadora was bouncing at her side, unable to contain her excitement. Ted was pushing the loaded trolley, keeping one hand on the cat carrier that was strapped on top, just as he promised ("Don't let him fall, Daddy!").

"Mummy, look, look! Oh, it's wonderful – isn't it wonderful? Do you reckon Lori's here already?"

"If they are not, then they will be very soon," Andromeda answered calmly. "Dora, slow down. Dora – Nymphadora come here! Your hair is coming undone."

Nymphadora gave a big impatient huff but did as she was told and allowed her mother to pull her brown locks back into the elaborate braid she had woven. Andromeda was just about to primp the green bow holding everything in place when Nymphadora began to fidget.

"Okay, okay, are you done now? Oh! There they are!" She tore away from her mother at a run, weaving in and out of families and trolleys.

"Nymphadora, honestly, don't run!" But her daughter was well out of ear-shot, even if she had wanted to listen. Ted chuckled softly.

"C'mon, 'Dromeda, she's just excited. Let her have some fun. Nothing's gonna happen to her here."

Andromeda sighed.

"I just wish she would _listen_ to me every once in a while. There are so many people here…"

Ted took her hand in his.

"None of whom are going to hurt her. That time is long over." He raised their clasped hands to his lips and kissed her fingers. "She's a good kid, darlin', and old enough to do things on her own. After all," he chuckled again, "she's going to be on her way to Hogwarts in a few."

"Yeah," Andromeda sighed, chewing on her bottom lip. She gazed out at the crowd.

"Hey," Ted said, squeezing her hand. "You can't hold on to her forever. But she'll be back, well in time for Christmas."

Andromeda wasn't given time to reply, as at just that moment Nymphadora came bounding out from behind a rather portly wizard, her friend right at her heels. Lori Cattermole was a gangly girl with long blonde hair, grey eyes, and a fair amount of freckles sprinkled over her nose. She was mischievous and clever, and she and Dora had been best friends since they were seven. Andromeda hadn't taken to her right away, what with her knobby knees, high-energy persona, and knack for letting her curiosity get the best of her. But when she had punched the boy down the block in retaliation for teasing Nymphadora, Andromeda instantly warmed up to her.

Lori may have had no sense of propriety but she was dead loyal.

Andromeda cringed internally at her daughter's disheveled look. The top two buttons of her black school robes had somehow become unfastened so that the collar was sliding down her left shoulder; her right shoe was loose, the laces flying about her ankles; the green bow that had just been tied was now hanging limply from her hair. There was really no mistake who their daughter had taken after.

The girls skidded to a halt before them, Nymphadora tripping on her shoelaces. She was breathing rather quickly and her cheeks were tinted pink, a combination from the heat of the station, scampering about, and her own excitement.

"Oh, Dora," Andromeda groaned, and she pulled out her wand to immediately set to work on restoring her daughter's appearance. The last thing she wanted was for everyone's first impression of her daughter to be a homeless vagabond. Gently pulling her into arm's reach, she ordered the shoes to retie themselves, the robes to realign itself, the crinkles to flatten out. Anything she deemed out of place was quickly set right.

"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Tonks!" Lori chirped, bouncing on her toes as she so often did. Ted embraced her warmly, lifting her off her feet so that she laughed. Andromeda smiled wearily.

"Good morning, Lori. Are you excited to be going off to Hogwarts?"

Lori grinned widely. "Yes, of course! I have been counting the days ever since I turned ten!"

"Where are your folks, Lore?" Ted asked.

"Oh, they are back there somewhere," Lori waved a hand in the general direction from which they had come from. "They've got all my stuff, plus Ryan's with them, and Hailey's being a right prick."

Andromeda smiled to herself, running her fingers through Nymphadora's hair to get the tangles out. Lori was the second of the three children to Samuel and Pauline Cattermole. Hailey Cattermole was twelve and had been sorted into Ravenclaw the year before. She was clever and sophisticated but she was also pretentious and ambitious. Ryan was the youngest and only son; he was a sweet child but was quickly learning the tricks of the trade.

Knowing that her daughter would hardly tolerate standing still for much longer, Andromeda quickly parted her hair into three, opting for a simple, pleated braid. And that's when she saw it.

"Nymphadora," she said sharply, and the girl winced immediately at her tone. "What is this?" She grabbed a handful of the offensive tresses and brought it round so her daughter could explain why, at the nape of her neck, amidst the natural brown waves, there were locks of brilliant pink, the same ostentatious color as the gum Ted's parents gave her to blow bubbles with.

"Um, well, I just thought…well, I think I like it better like this." Nymphadora screwed up her face, as if she were concentrating really, really hard, and then suddenly pink locks were sprouting all over her head.

"Cool!" Lori exclaimed, her eyes growing wide. Ted sighed in resignation, trying to hide a smile that was tugging at his lips. Andromeda, however, was staring at her daughter with a slightly horrified expression. Nymphadora was smiling tentatively.

"No," her mother said, getting over her shock. "No, absolutely not. Change it back."

Nymphadora made a face.

"Why?" she whined. "Why do I need to change it back? I _like_ it this way! It looks _cool_!"

"It looks unnatural, like a ragamuffin."

"No, it doesn't! Daddy! Daddy, why can't I wear it the way I want to?"

Ted took one look at Andromeda's expression and said, wearily, "Dora, listen to your mother, please."

"Why? She never listens – you never understand me! Why can't I just leave it the way it is?"

"Don't argue with me, Nymphadora," Andromeda snapped, conscious of Lori still standing there, though she had now taken to scanning the crowd, pretending she couldn't hear. Following her gaze, Andromeda caught a glimpse of Mr. and Mrs. Cattermole. Her pulse began to quicken, as it did every time it seemed Nymphadora was going to cause a scene in public.

"Nymphadora, now!" she hissed, and though she continued to grumble inaudibly under her breath, Nymphadora crossed her eyes and screwed up her face. Within seconds the pink streaks had disappeared, leaving only the natural brown waves in their place. She quickly pleated the hair into one long, dark braid down her back and tied the ribbon around the end. Hastily, she glanced at her neighbours to see if they were watching or had noticed this brief moment of oddity but no one was staring in her direction; they were too absorbed in their own dealings. She sighed in relief yet immediately felt guilty. She wasn't ashamed of her daughter or her funny talent; she loved her more than anything else. Still, she would rather not run into any of her Hogwarts classmates with a daughter sporting bubble-gum pink hair. They would have made respectable marriages and raised proper Pureblood children who would already be stuffy and conceited. Her own family was the very image of improper and disgrace. She loved them dearly but she would rather not have her deviance rubbed in her face by adults she once called friends as a child.

"Alright there, Theodore?" The deep voice of Samuel Cattermole was loud but slow. "And Andromeda, pleasure as always."

She exchanged a greeting kiss on the cheek with Sam and Pauline. Ted and Sam shook hands and immediately struck up a conversation about football. Samuel Cattermole came from a long line of wizards and witches but he had been fascinated with the television Ted insisted on having in their home. One game was all it took to hook Sam to the Muggle game.

Young or old, magical or not, sports was the common denominator among men.

"So how are you, dear?" asked Pauline.

"I am doing well, thank you. Nymphadora's been so excited since she got her letter, we've hardly been able to sleep all summer!"

Pauline laughed good-naturedly.

"Yes, we've been in the same boat. I don't think Sam and I slept a wink last night, what with Hailey and Lori and all."

"Oh, yes, where is Hailey?"

"I don't know, and I don't really mind, just as long as it is out of my sight," Pauline answered darkly and rather uncharacteristically. Andromeda frowned, which prompted the older woman to explain. "She has been a right nightmare all summer. She started menstruating, you know, just this past winter. And between the hormones and school and trying to create her own identity…well, I_ try_ to be understanding – I mean, we've all gone through it – but it's like she doesn't want to be understood!" She pursed her lips. "She thinks she is so mature not that she's twelve and got a wand and some training. On top of all that, she's starting to become into boys but I told her – I _told _her, calm and firm like you should – that she's far too young, too young to start dating."

Andromeda made a sympathetic noise.

"I don't suppose she took that very well."

"No, of course not and now she finds every opportunity to argue with me. I told her she could start dating when she was – Ryan!" She suddenly barked, making Andromeda and all those in her vicinity jump. "You put your fingers in there and you'll end up with 'em bitten off! How many times do I have to tell you to keep your hands to yourself?"

Andromeda peered over her shoulder in time to see seven-year-old Ryan quickly retracting his fingers from the wire carrier that housed Nymphadora's cat.

"It's alright, he's perfectly harmless," Ted reassured her. "We made absolutely certain that he was good with children before getting him for Dora."

"No, no, he shouldn't be sticking his fingers where they don't belong," Samuel said with a stern look at his son. "Besides, I think it is about time we got the girls boarded and settled, don't you?"

Lori and Nymphadora whooped and cried out in agreement. Each taking her trolley, they walked side by side, and the adults followed.

They stopped beside an open door and waited for the porter to finish speaking with a nervous-looking woman. When he had successfully reassured her (she must have been a Muggle) and sent her in the right direction, he turned his attention to the two families.

"And what may I do for you today?" he asked with a pleasant smile.

"It's our girls' first time going to Hogwarts," Ted said, placing his hands on Nymphadora's shoulders, "and we were just wonderin' if we could get someone to help them with their trunks. They are filled to the brim and quite heavy."

"Right you are sir. Besides, ladies shouldn't have to haul about their own packages," he added, tipping his hat and winking at Lori and Dora. Then he shouted over his shoulder, "Rory! Oy, Rory! C'mere an' help me with these trunks!"

Rory was a young man, not much older than twenty-two, with a round face and kind blue eyes. The two porters struck up an easy conversation with the girls, wishing them luck and asking what they were most excited to study. Then they disappeared into the train, taking the heavy trunks with them, leaving the families alone to exchange farewells.

Andromeda pulled Nymphadora in for a hug.

"Be good. Study hard and do well in your classes."

"I will."

"Listen to your Prefects; pay attention in class."

"I know."

"Stay out of trouble, don't perform magic in the halls"

"Mum, I _know_," Nymphadora said, rolling her eyes.

"I know but I am just saying it again. You have a wand now, which means you are responsible for your actions-"

"_Mum_!"

Andromeda frowned, wanting to reprimand Nymphadora for her tone but decided against it. She nodded, pressing a kiss to her forehead before letting her go.

Nymphadora turned to her father. Ted stared down at her, beaming, his eyes twinkling with pride. He embraced her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Be good; you'll make us proud no matter what. Have fun, baby girl," he whispered in her ear.

"I will, Daddy," she replied, kissing him on the cheek.

Then she and Lori were scrambling up the steps into the train, and Ted, Andromeda, and the Cattermoles were left on the platform with all the other parents. The last stragglers said their good-byes and rushed onto the train. Last minute calls were made, and porters were now closing the doors. This was it.

The clock struck eleven and the whistle blew. The Hogwarts Express blew out a great puff of mist before lurching forward, its wheels grating forward slowly. Andromeda caught sight of Dora and Lori fumbling at a window to her left, and when they finally got it open, they propped it up and poked their heads out. Andromeda raised a hand, waving, and Nymphadora waved back wildly, beaming broadly.

"I love you," Andromeda called, as her mother never had.

"I love you, too, Mummy!" Nymphadora shouted back with abandon, and then she and Lori withdrew from the window. As she turned, her braid (which was miraculously still intact) whipped out over her shoulder, and Andromeda caught sight of the bright pink ends.

"Oh, she didn't!" Andromeda gasped. She took half a step without even thinking before Ted wrapped his arms around her waist.

"'Dromeda," he said gently, "you can't control her forever. I know you don't like it but this is probably just a phase. She'll get over it once she is out of her teenage years. You have to let her express herself now, though, if not she'll never figure it out."

Andromeda stood rigid in his arms for a second more but eventually sighed and leaned into his chest. He was right, of course; he always seemed to know exactly what to do when it came to raising Nymphadora. She shouldn't worry about her so much, really. Nymphadora may not have been graceful or tactful or poised but she was compassionate and determined and loyal; she had a good head on her shoulders.

Well, she was their daughter, after all.

Theodore and Andromeda Tonks stayed like that for a long while, watching the Hogwarts Express pull off into the country, knowing that she would be full of stories upon her return home.


	68. July 1987: The Golden Snitch

**important note for this chapter: this is inspired by Makani's sketch "Not Enough". I have a link to her page on my profile, if you would like to check it out.**

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Narcissa watched with pursed lips as Lucius threw the ball higher and higher, winding his arm back behind his ear and using his entire torso to launch the ball across the lawn so that each time Draco had to fly farther and higher. Every possible injury came to mind: Draco losing control, Draco slipping while speeding through the air, Draco crashing into a tree, or being mauled by an owl (this last one she admitted was rather far-fetched but implausibility was not impossibility, and so she considered it). When the little red ball began to soar up to the top of the hedges set around their property, she really began to worry. She set down the flute, laying it on the table gently, and picked up her wand. She twirled it between her fingers and chewed her lip nervously.

She trusted Lucius, she did. He would never make him do anything that was _sure_ to end in disaster. She also understood that boys were more devilish than girls by nature and needed to get a few bruises to really feel satisfied with themselves; smothering mothers only bred resentment or insecure boys who would never grow up to amount for anything. Okay, alright, she got it: stick him in sports, let him get dirty, and get all the china out of hands' reach. But did Draco really need a broken neck? Did he really need to be zooming about on the latest child's broom 15 feet in the air? Lucius meant well but Narcissa, as a woman, had a more sensitive intuition for pointing out a range of dangerous situations. Lucius's knack for doing so broke up situations into two categories: deadly and not deadly.

Wouldn't a nice game of Exploding Snap provide the same father-son bonding experience?

She took comfort in the fact that she was not the only one feeling anxious about Lucius's flying lesson. The peacocks, their white feathers fanned out to catch the summer sun, were eyeing the pair closely, warily watching the little ball sail closer and closer to where they sat atop the hedge. Narcissa took this as evidence that she was not, in fact, "being over-protective", "worrying too much", or "fighting the inevitable" (as her son, husband, and mother-in-law often criticized her of).

When Draco's feet touched the ground, offering up the little ball to his father with a rather flushed but smug face, Narcissa believed this to be the end. She exhaled a sigh of relief and her fingers, which had been clutching her wand, loosened their hold. She relaxed into her chair, quite content to begin playing the piece she had been practicing on the flute earlier. She saw Lucius take the object from their son and turn away from him, bending to open the chest in which he stored all of their Quidditch equipment. The little red ball disappeared into its depths. Quite right, she thought, it was nearly tea time; of course Lucius would be wrapping up their little game. They had played long enough, after all.

Narcissa squinted, confused. Draco looked far too excited for a game that had just come to an end. He was nodding eagerly, the rays of sunlight glinting off his pale head, and eagerly drumming his fingers against the handle of his broom. Lucius straightened up, speaking softly. Narcissa was much too far away to catch what he was saying but she thought that perhaps he was just now objecting to Draco's pleas for another game. Draco often erupted into fits of tears and screams with Narcissa and the nanny but he _never_ threw a temper tantrum in front of Lucius.

Draco was mounting his broom. Lucius put up a finger, indicating the he was to wait, and his other hand he extended. Narcissa saw now that he had been holding something in that hand, and she saw her husband uncurl his fingers so that his left hand was thrust away from his person palm up. For a split second nothing happened (or so it seemed to Narcissa, who was squinting furiously now, trying to fathom what was going on). Then she saw it, and she understood.

Lucius had released something tiny, something that could fit easily into the dip of an adult's palm, something that was so small she could barely see it. The object was gold, the light of the sun shimmering on its slender wings in ripples. It was quick, zipping back and forth so that it was almost impossible to catch, only a glittering gold blur as it sped away.

The golden snitch.

Before Narcissa could even take a breath to shout a very firm, very loud, very unladylike "NO!" at her husband, Lucius had dropped his hand and, like a horse taking off from the gate, Draco rocketed off the ground and into air after the winged ball. Narcissa, angry now, shoved herself out of the chair and marched towards her husband, wand in hand. Oh, had she a few things to say to _him_!

Much to her aggravation, Lucius did not even award her a glance. A twitch of the head, a sort of low grunt in recognition, that's all she got by way of loving greeting.

"Mind those trees on your left…easy on the handle there, not too forceful…Draco, what have I told you about keeping your legs under you?" Lucius was coaching their son. To his wife, he tossed a quick "Hello, Cissy," between instructions and corrections, which peeved her even more.

Wrong move.

"A snitch?" She growled, low and dangerous, and suddenly she had his full attention. He wasn't smiling. "A _real_ snitch?"

"Cissy – Narcissa, there's nothing wrong with using a snitch. He's done so well with the practice ball; he was ready for something more challenging. I assure you, it is completely safe-"

"Completely safe?" she hissed. "He's seven, Lucius, _seven_! And you have him flying around fifteen feet in the air like he's a professional Quidditch player!"

"He's perfectly capable of doing this, Narcissa. I know you worry, I know you don't think so but he _can_. He's a natural flyer. Look at him, Cissy! He likes it, okay, he enjoys this!"

"He would also enjoy eating sweets right before bed and not eating his vegetables but he cannot do that!"

"Our son isn't a ninny, Narcissa! You can't keep babying him."

"I am not _babying_ him, I am keeping his age in mind and not treating him like he is already of school age!"

Lucius opened his mouth to retort but at the shout of triumph they both looked up to see Draco zooming towards them. Still in mid-air, he leaped off his broomstick, right fist closed tightly around something small and glittering. His momentum threw him straight into his father's chest. His cheeks were rosy, his pale hair was wind-swept but his lips were spread into a wild grin of jubilance. As soon as he was balanced, he shoved the snitch into his father's face, and Lucius took it from him, smirking, eyes shining with pride.

"Again, Dad, toss it again!" Draco cried exuberantly.

"No, Draco, that's it. Your mother here-"

"Aw, come on, Dad! Just one more time?"

Lucius glanced hesitantly towards his wife. Narcissa, seeing her son still in one piece and exhilarated from the game, found it increasingly more difficult to hold her resolve. Draco had all but ignored her but was now gazing at her expectantly, as was Lucius, both awaiting her permission. If she said no, if she denied him his fun, she would be the "bad guy". He would end up resenting her and liking Lucius disproportionally more than her. She was cornered.

She huffed, scowling a bit, but ultimately nodded her approval. Both boys grinned (though Lucius had the good sense to turn his head away to hide it from her).

"Alright, Draco, one more," Lucius agreed, and then the snitch was zipping away again and Draco was clambering onto his broom.

Then he, too, was zooming across the lawn.

Lucius observed his son for a while but finally spoke.

"I don't suppose this is a good time to mention that he needs a new broom?"

Narcissa groaned.

She would simply have to resign herself to the role of supportive Quidditch mom.


End file.
